


AM

by nwwe



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Multiple One-Shots, Short Stories, a bit of angst, lots of rooftops, love square
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-06-17 04:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15453633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nwwe/pseuds/nwwe
Summary: a collection of 12 little drabbles inspired by the music album AM. rooftop scenes, rejection, uncertainty, some angst, love galore.stories may not necessarily be connected.





	1. Do I Wanna Know?

**Author's Note:**

> for this little project I'll be writing 12 short stories based on either the name or the content of the songs in the album AM (by arctic monkeys). hope you enjoy it! https://genius.com/albums/Arctic-monkeys/Am

Plagg was a divine being, the literal manifestation of misfortune, the god of bad luck. He’d lived for several millennia and he’d been on every piece of habitable land this world had to offer. He’d witnessed the aeons pass, the development of the human race, the rise and fall of mighty empires and monarchies, the revolutions of nations and states, the birth and death of millions, perhaps billions. He’d been with tens – perhaps a little over a hundred – of Miraculous hosts by now, and all were unique and brilliant in their own right (though he never admitted that).

And one thing never changed; every one of them came down to _this_ , sooner or later. He sighed as he turned to face his Chosen.

Adrien Agreste sat across him on his room’s sofa, legs spread and planted firmly on the floor, his hands clasped together. His face was stern, and his gaze piercing. His emerald eyes seemed to stare straight into Plagg’s soul, though he didn’t have one.

“Plagg,” he said coolly, in a strict and matter-of-fact tone.

“Y-Yes?” the kwami muttered. It was hard for him not to do so when the table he was resting on was quite literally decked with little wheels of camembert – some young, some aged more so than others, and all smelling deliciously strong, mushroomy and fragrant.

“You know who Ladybug is,” he began.

Plagg nodded.

“You saw her face when Dark Owl trapped us in the steel container,” he continued, almost like he was interrogating Plagg.

He swallowed and slowly nodded once more.

“So here’s the deal,” he stated, unwavering eyes offering no compromises. “You tell me who she is, and this table is all yours.”

“And if I refuse?” Plagg crossed his arms.

“Then I’ll feed you with breadcrumbs and Kraft Singles for the rest of your life,” he waved his hand and leaned back into the sofa. “So which’ll it be?”

Plagg winced at the thought. He hated Kraft Singles. He couldn’t stand the taste of stale processed cheese – it had this peculiar effect on him – it tasted appalling, and yet simultaneously made him long for real cheese since the yellow slices had some semblance – as little as it might be – of the taste of cheese. It was horrifying.

“I-I told you, you can’t bribe me,” he stuttered. He took a deep breath, hovered into the air, and flew straight to the bathroom scouring its tiled floor – there it was, the dirty sock basket, where he could find temporary refuge. He crashed into it headfirst, letting out a satisfied purr. But as he breathed in the air, he paused. Something was wrong. It smelled… clean. Odourless. The revolting smell of fresh lavender-scented detergent wafted into his nose.

Adrien looked Plagg straight in the eye. “Everything in this room is clean. The only odour comes from the table,” he jabbed a finger at the camembert.

Plagg stared back at Adrien, the look of disappointment and shock evident after his partner’s cruel betrayal. Having no other option, the kwami drifted back to the table, the overwhelming earthy aroma tempting Plagg with every passing second.  

“Okay,” Adrien’s kwami conceded. “You want to know who Ladybug is.”

Adrien nodded vigorously.

“I know who she is. In fact, I’ve known since the start,” he drawled on lazily.

“Yes, I figured,” he snapped impatiently, and leaned in towards Plagg. “Now hurry up and spill the beans.”

“Uh-uh, I’m not done,” Plagg raised a finger, and Adrien clenched his teeth in frustration. “Now, let’s make it clear. I know who she is. _You_ know I know who she is. And you want me to tell you who she is.”

Adrien’s fists were clenched, for his patience was running thin, and Plagg absolutely knew how to get on his nerves. If all cats were like this, he thought, he’d never get one in his life. He nodded, shooting Plagg a glare that urged him to stop beating about the bush.

“But here’s the thing,” Plagg floated up to face Adrien at eye level. “Do you want to know who she is?”

Adrien frowned. “What do you mean? Of course I do!”

“No,” Plagg corrected. “What I mean is, do you really want to know who she is?”

His brow furrowed even further. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Think about it,” Plagg explained. “I can tell you who Ladybug is. And you’d go off jumping about Paris trying to find her.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” he mumbled, but Plagg knew he was right, and he _loved_ it when he knew he was right. A small smirk crept its way on Plagg’s lips.

“So you go off and find her, and let’s say you discover who she really is,” Plagg went on. “What if she’s nothing like you expected?”

“My feelings won’t change, Plagg,” he stood up and waved at arm at him in protest. “Nothing will.”

“You humans are the only thing that never changes,” Plagg huffed. “All the previous Chat Noirs tried to look for Ladybug, and they refuse to ever believe anything bad can happen. Let’s be honest, this is just a massive blind date. Would you trust your dad to set you up on one?”

Adrien raised an eyebrow. He looked at Plagg for a few moments before finally opening his mouth again, “No.”

“Then why do you trust me to send you on one?”

“It’s not a _blind date_ , Plagg,” Adrien sighed in exasperation. “Firstly, I already know what she’s like, I just don’t know her identity. Secondly, I already like her.”

“You may not,” mused Plagg, “after you get to really know her.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Adrien protested. “It’s just a mask! She can’t be all that different underneath!”

“And how do you know that?”

There was a brief moment of silence. Plagg watched his Chosen as his brain went into overdrive, carefully trying to form a response.

“Well,” he looked at Plagg, “I’m still the same person underneath the mask.” He was poised confidently, an air of firmness around him, but all models knew how to put on that image, and Plagg effortlessly sensed the uncertainty in his voice.

“The same?” Plagg wrinkled his nose. “I don’t recall Adrien Agreste setting up rooftop candlelight dinners for his crush.”

Adrien gritted his teeth and his face turned a shade of crimson. “You know what I mean, Plagg.”

“And what if she isn’t Ladybug underneath the mask?”

“Plagg, I’m sure she is,” Adrien argued. “Maybe as her normal self she’s a little less like Ladybug. Maybe she’s a bit awkward or clumsy. But she’s Ladybug all the same.”

“And what if she isn’t?”

Adrien rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in exasperation. “Plagg, if I succumb to every ‘what if’ you say, I’ll never meet Ladybug!”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, Adrien!” Plagg retorted. “You should never meet her!”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Plagg breathed in. “Use your brain, Adrien! You only see the superhero side of Ladybug. You hold her up on a pedestal. You’re going to have that image shattered, and you won’t be able to work with her,” he snapped.

Adrien was absolutely stunned. Plagg had never raised his voice, not even once, no matter the cause. In the direst of emergencies, he would still be a sleazy black cat; whenever Adrien did something stupid, he’d just chuckle sarcastically. Gaping at Plagg, he could only a muster a soft “That’s not true,” though it was more aimed towards himself in self-reassurance than at Plagg.

“It’s not worth it,” Plagg continued, “to have Paris’ defence against Hawkmoth ruined just because some boy wanted to meet his crush.”

There was a tense silence in the air. Adrien looked downcast, defeated, trodden, because he knew precisely that Plagg was right. He was speculating too much, Adrien desperately thought as he tried to convince himself his kwami was wrong. Everything Plagg said was just a slippery slope, a logical fallacy. He wasn’t right. He couldn’t be.

Adrien sighed. He collapsed back onto the sofa. Plagg hovered down to face him. “Well, I’m assuming these are all free game now,” he said as he dived towards the table and began to devour the wheels of camembert.

He stared up at the starry, dazzling night sky through his window panes. He thought of Ladybug. He thought about how desperately he wanted to meet her. He thought about how his sole goal in life – Ladybug – seemed so distant, so unreachable, so far, like the stars in the sky.

Plagg, sensing his Chosen’s sorrow, drifted up to rest on his shoulder. “I know how it feels like,” he sighed. “I want to meet Tikki too. But I can’t always see her. And I have to accept that it’s for the better. ”

Adrien’s gaze didn’t falter, nor did he offer any reply to his kwami. He contemplated Plagg’s words. Was it really a good idea to seek Ladybug out? Did he really want to know?

He didn’t know.

* * *

 

Marinette sighed as she crashed down on her swivel chair, swinging around, while Tikki flew circles above her head. She kicked at the floor and pushed her chair towards her computer and stared at the screen. The perfect, impeccable image of Adrien Agreste – her wallpaper – peered back at her.

“What’s wrong, Marinette?” Tikki chirped.

“Nothing,” she drawled dejectedly as she rested her face on her arms, propped up on the table. “It’s just… Adrien.”

Her kwami frowned. “What do you mean? Nothing happened at school today! And you’ve been getting better at talking to him. He enjoys being your friend.”

Marinette looked up at her kwami levitating over her head. “You know that’s not what I want, Tikki. I want him to like me. As in, _love_ me.”

“You can’t possibly make him fall for you instantly,” Tikki hovered down to face her directly. “Don’t worry! He’ll fall for you eventually.”

Typical Tikki – always full of encouragement, full of nothing but good advice. But even her usual consolations and Marinette’s typical cheerful optimism couldn’t bring her spirits up. She slumped down on her table, her eyes tracing and following the wooden veneer.

“It’s just…” she trailed off, racking her brain and trying to find the words. “It’s taking too long. I’ve tried and tried, and he only sees me as a friend. What if he never likes me? What if nothing happens in the end?”

“Like I said, it isn’t that easy, Marinette. I’m sure he’ll come to see how wonderful you are. You’re so helpful and kind, he’s bound to come to his senses!”

Marinette let out a small smile, and her eyes met Tikki’s. “Thanks for the encouragement, Tikki.”

Her kwami momentarily smiled back in reply, but she caught how her eyes still looked so downcast and distant. Something else was bugging her Chosen. “Is there something else on your mind, Marinette?”

“No,” her words dripped with dishonesty. “I’m fine.”

Tikki scowled. “Marinette, it’s not good to keep things bottled up. Tell me.”

Marinette stared back down at her table, contemplating whether or not to open up to her for a few seconds – then she decided, if she couldn’t trust her kwami, she couldn’t trust anyone else, could she? She breathed in and looked at Tikki.

“Okay, Tikki. It sounds weird, but… I’m not sure if Adrien is right for me after all.”

Tikki cocked her head sideways in confusion. “What do you mean? You’ve been going after him for so long now!”

Marinette leaned back into her chair, looking up at the ceiling with gloom in her eyes. “I don’t know. He’s just so… withdrawn. I can’t ever seem to have a heartfelt conversation with him.”

“But you talk to him all the time, Marinette!” Tikki protested. “He smiles at you, he laughs with you. He really is your friend.”

“The smile isn’t real, Tikki. He always smiles, always tries to look fine and all… but he’s not. He hides behind that smile. I don’t know him well enough. What if he isn’t how I expected him to be at all? What if I peel away that façade of his and we can’t get along?”

There was a silence from Tikki – not because she was particularly shocked by Marinette’s words, but rather because she knew her Chosen was right. Adrien never was one to open up, was he? And the risk that he may not have been who Marinette thought he was; that was a very real fear indeed, and completely justifiable. For once, her tongue failed her, as she tried her best to think of a response.

Five seconds passed – then six, then seven. It took no fewer than ten seconds for Tikki to formulate a reply. She gently hovered down to Marinette’s cheek and nuzzled it affectionately.

“Marinette,” Tikki said firmly. “You’ll never know if you don’t try. Maybe he’s different in actual fact. But I don’t think he is. Be confident, Marinette! You’re Ladybug. You can do anything. It doesn't matter if he isn't who you think he is. You'll just move on. You'll find someone else. I believe in you.”

Marinette looked back at Tikki with pleading – almost desperate – eyes. “Really? You think so?”

Tikki nodded assuredly. “Yes, I do.”

She smiled; this time it was far more genuine than the last. “Thanks Tikki. I really appreciate it. I really do.”

Tikki grinned and nuzzled her cheek yet again. She flew towards her computer screen and shut it off. “Go to sleep, Marinette. It’ll do you some good.”

She nodded in agreement, walked over to the other side of her room and flicked the light switch off, climbed up the steps and fell into the comfortable depths of her mattress and comforter and pillows. Tikki snuggled up next to her and fell fast asleep.

Marinette’s eyes were wide open, however; she stared at the ceiling and couldn’t seem to lull herself to sleep. Tikki’s words had helped a little. Yet she couldn’t shake off her unease. Her eyes moved towards the glass trapdoor above her and she gazed at the stars above, looking so distant and unreachable, like the true Adrien Agreste. She contemplated Tikki’s words. Was it a good idea, after all? To pursue him and seek him out? Did she really want to know?

She didn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end. criticism and feedback is always appreciated!  
> I can be reached on reddit (https://www.reddit.com/user/pun_noir/) and tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nw-we)


	2. R U Mine?

Paris never failed to look any less majestic at night. The orange glow emanated from the city below, contrasting with the sparkling night sky. There was activity abuzz in the streets – not quite busy, not quite rushed, but rather relaxed, as men and women returned to their homes, ate their dinners and went to slumber in the city. The city of gastronomy and love never seemed to disappoint.

Even through the tight-fitting leather of his suit, Chat Noir could make out the texture of the soft velvet rug beneath him. Sat cross-legged on a rooftop, he watched curiously below as the cars meandered through traffic, as the couples strolled along the Seine, as the crowds admired the Eiffel Tower. The heat of the candles radiated off their flames and found its way to his skin. He basked in the warmth and took a deep breath.

The whole set-up was very much not unlike the one he’d done on the day Glaciator appeared. He wasn’t quite exactly sure why he’d asked Ladybug out on another candlelit rooftop meeting. To his surprise, she wholeheartedly accepted – whether it was out of genuine joy or simply guilt for not turning up the previous time, he did not know, nor did he particularly care. A date with his Lady was a date.

Really, it had been his fault the last time for setting his expectations too high, when Ladybug had told him she had plans. He’d apologised to her, but she refused to have any of it, insisting she take the blame. How she put up with someone as self-centred and demanding as he, Chat did not know.

He fidgeted with his fingers and bit his lip and rocked his legs up and down and tapped his feet. Cats did not like to sit still. His internal clock ticked with every passing second. He’d been keeping track of the time in his head. It was roughly nine ‘o clock, he guessed. Ladybug would show up any time now – or at least he hoped she would.

There was a faint, nervous fluttering in his heart. Something he hadn’t felt for quite some time as Adrien Agreste. What was he even going to say when she showed up? He hadn’t thought about that. He hadn’t planned anything at all. Stupid cat, he cursed in his head. If she showed up, she was going to be so disappointed to find out he had nothing to offer and he’d never be able to get a chance like this again – oh how had he managed to botch this opportunity-

His thoughts were cut off as a faint breeze cut through the air and a small thud resounded on the velvet. His black cat ears shot up and his eyes widened. His back stiffened. His heart pounded at his chest. He turned around, finding Ladybug’s eyes meeting his. Those cute pigtails, her pink, round lips, her shimmering blue eyes and body clad in a crimson red suit and black dots.

He managed to muster up his feline smirk. “Good evening, My Lady.”

She smiled back, a dazzling smile that made Chat’s heart skip a beat. “Good evening, Chat.”

He swallowed. Outstretching one clawed hand, he patted the carpet. “Sit.”

“Where’d you get this? The material’s pretty good,” she remarked as she sat. Her eyes narrowed. “Did you steal it?”

“I _borrowed_ it,” he corrected with a cheeky smile.

She giggled – he supposed that was a good sign – and leaned forward. “So what have you got planned, kitty cat? I’ll entertain you for tonight.”

“Well…” his words trailed off as the lump in his throat reappeared. He forced it back down. “Nothing, much, really. I figured we should just… talk. Get to know each other better.”

He turned his head to the side sheepishly and blushed. _Entertain him_?

She looked at him with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. Her eyes trailed around his face – was she observing his blush? The light from the candles illuminated his whole image. Maybe they weren’t such a good idea after all.

She leaned back, propping herself up on her two arms. “We might as well. Come to think of it, we haven’t really spoken to each other like this, have we?”

He shook his head. “Of course, I don’t expect you to tell me your identity or anything personal. Just… tell me about you.” His eyes were firm and unwavering, his best attempt at letting Ladybug know he was serious about this little meeting.

She nodded. “Okay, where do I start… what do you want to know?”

He shrugged. “Anything you want to say. Anything at all. I’m all ears.”

She stroked her chin for a few moments, then looked up to face him again. “Well, for one… I like designing.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I sew things and make clothes. Nothing special, though,” she stated.

“Anything you make must be spectacular, My Lady,” Chat said. “If you want to get to know them, I have a few contacts from the fashion industry, you know.”

Her eyes widened. “You? In fashion? Really?”

He scowled in mock annoyance. “I’ll have you know I’m not as hideous as you think.”

She laughed, exposing the whites of her teeth. “What do you do? You can’t be much older than me.”

“It’s a secret,” he smirked, placing his index finger to his lips. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Fifteen.”

Fifteen? That was interesting. He’d never known up till now. “So am I.”

“Really?” she asked. “So you’ll be sitting for the _brevet_ too?”

He nodded. “I hate exams. But we’ve gotta do what we have to do.”

“That’s a shame. I was hoping to get some study advice.”

“If you lock yourself up at home for a few weeks, I’m sure that’ll help. It did for me,” he said absently.

“You locked yourself up at home?” she questioned, seemingly in disbelief that he’d do something like that. It didn’t fit his image well, did it? A hyperactive cat, always jumping from roof to roof, a thrill-seeker. If he was Ladybug, he wouldn’t believe himself either.

“Or rather, my father did,” he murmured. If it were up to him he’d never touch his textbooks even once in his life. Unfortunately, Gabriel Agreste was a cold, uncompromising man who did not tolerate failure. Even for his son.

She seemed to appear rather taken aback. “Chat, that’s horrible! Why’d he do that?”

“He doesn’t like me going out,” he muttered. “He likes to keep me at home and do nothing but study.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Chat, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “It’s not your fault. And I get my father. He wants me to do well. But it’s just… suffocating at times.”

“I imagine it can be. I know someone like that too. His father doesn’t want him out of his sight.”

“Is it the one you’re crushing on? You mentioned him before,” he leaned in towards her with a sly smirk.

She blushed, crossed her arms and looked away. “S-So what if it is?”

“Tell me who he is.”

“I don’t like the idea of finding him riddled with claw marks tomorrow morning, thank you very much.”

He grinned. “You know me too well, My Lady,” he chuckled. “What’s he like?”

“Oh,” her eyes turned dreamy, “he’s the kindest person you’ll ever meet. Like, _ever_. He’s also really good-looking, so that’s a plus. He’s talented at everything. He knows three languages and knows how to play music. He’s perfect.”

If his name were Caesar, every single one of those words were daggers being plunged into his heart. He’d be lying if they didn’t sting. He tried his best to hide his wince and bit his lip. “He’s that perfect, huh?”

Ladybug gasped and her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, Chat. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” he said, trying to not grumble. “I can’t control you. Can’t make you mine just like that.”

She looked down as her face contorted in regret. Then her features perked back up and she faced him with a smile.

“I guess you’re right Chat. But for today, just this night… I guess can be yours,” she declared.

He only realised a few seconds later that it was meant to reassure him, to make sure the night wasn’t ruined. But when he heard it, it sounded _completely_ wrong. His face was instantly flushed with blood and he stood as still as a statue. Ladybug? His? His mouth opened and he tried to formulate a reply, but all that came out were stammers.

“Um… Chat?” Ladybug quipped, shifting uncomfortably. A small blush was creeping its way on her cheeks, he observed.

“Oh,” he nearly barked, “Uh… yeah! I guess.” He grinned sheepishly and giggled like a little child unearthing his treasures from underneath a Christmas tree. _Giggled_ , he thought. God, that had to be beyond embarrassing, but his mind had no place for any emotion other than a giddy joy.

She raised an eyebrow at his strange behaviour – probably judging him silently, he assumed, but she did not press any further. “Well, you know enough about me. Tell me more about yourself.”

He frowned. “No, I don’t. You barely said anything about yourself.”

She shrugged. “What’s there to know about me? I’m just a boring fifteen year-old girl. But you have contacts in the fashion industry, apparently. Either you or your father must be doing in that field, right? Tell me more.”

“Boring?” he scolded. “You’re not boring at all. You’re amazing, Ladybug.”

Her face reddened. “But… I really am nothing. Underneath the mask, I mean. I’m not anything special.”

“Anyone who can stand up against Hawkmoth and pledge to Paris that they’ll protect the city forever is pretty special if you ask me,” he mused, resting his chin on his knuckle. “I still think about that time, you know. That was really amazing.”

“T-Thanks,” she mumbled as the scarlet on her face seemed to intensify. She exhaled and put herself at ease. “Well, I’m really ordinary as far as fifteen year-olds go. I go to school. I hang out with my friends. I like pink.”

“Pink?” Chat smiled in amusement.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes. Very surprising, I know. Are you blown away yet by how _special_ I am?”

“No, no, I wasn’t insinuating anything,” Chat said, rolling his index finger in a _go on_ gesture.

“Well… my parents run a shop. My friends come over every once in a while. Life is pretty normal. That’s about it.”

“Friends, huh?” he mulled.

She appeared to catch the little glint of melancholy in his eye. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I’m fine,” he said. “It’s just I haven’t had many friends in my life. That’s changing now, hopefully.”

“What did your father do?” she demanded. “How is it possible you of all people doesn’t have many friends? That can’t be.”

“Spending a lot of time at home helps with that,” he idly scratched at the velvet with the tip of his clawed finger. “But don’t worry about me. I’m getting to know some people. They’re really nice.”

“Good,” she said. “Honestly. I had this image of you as some joker in school, you know?”

He laughed. “I wish I could, but I haven’t got the chance. Maybe someday.” He retracted his finger and faced his Lady once more. “So what do your parents do? Where’s their shop?”

“Nice try, _chaton_ ,” she smirked and flicked a finger at his nose. “That’s a secret.”

“Please?” he pouted.

“Oh, you-“ she grimaced. “Stop with those pleading kitty eyes. Please.”

He didn’t stop.

“Ugh,” she sighed, and pulled at the side of his cheeks, yanking his face back into place. “Stop.”

“Mission failed,” he cursed. “We’ll get ‘em next time.”

She laughed heartedly, arms crossed and chest heaving. She wiped a tear from her eye. “Maybe you’ll know someday.”

“I’ll hold you to your word,” he said. “Anything else you’d like the doctor to know?”

“Hmm… no,” she pondered. “In fact, I think it’s your turn now.”

“Okay,” he breathed. His mind jogged through his memories, thinking of anything significant he’d like to tell her. His heart screamed to simply de-transform and show off in front of her, _Hey, I’m Adrien Agreste, child model extrodinaire_ , but his brain gave all it could to block off any notion of doing such a thing.

“Well, for one…” he began, “I’m not like most fifteen year-olds. And I’m not saying that to brag. I mean that, well, my life hasn’t been really normal so far. I was homeschooled for quite some time.”

“How was that like?”

“Pretty depressing,” he admitted. “Well, even now I’m still not all that happy, I supposed. Making friends and all is really nice. My best friend, he’s a really cool guy. I’m lucky to have met him. But sometimes I feel kind of sad.”

“So when are you happy?” she asked.

His heart skipped a beat. _Oh no_. He knew immediately what he wanted to say, but he hesitated. There was a few seconds’ silence before he finally spoke again.

“When…” he said bashfully. “When I’m with you.”

 _Boom_. He didn’t think her face could’ve been as red as her suit, but apparently the human body was in fact capable of such feats. “Oh,” she said. “Oh.”

He chuckled. “Sorry for being so direct. But that’s about it. When I said I liked you, I meant it. I really did.”

She didn’t dare to meet his eyes. “But you only like _Ladybug_. You wouldn’t like the real me.”

“What do you mean, the real you? You’re Ladybug, with or without a costume. I’m sure you’re just as amazing beneath the mask.”

“Do… do I really make you as happy as you make it out to be?” she quietly asked.

He nodded his head. “If I’m being honest with myself… there really are only two things that make me happy, strictly speaking. My friends… and you.”

He leaned back and sighed. “Honestly, I think about you all the time. At school when I’m not paying attention, at home when I’m just lying down and doing nothing. You’re on my mind.” He stayed quiet for a short while, fearing that he’d been too blunt. He observed her, trying to gauge how well she’d been taking in his words. Her face was so deeply scarlet it was unbelievable. He stifled back a laugh.

Finally, she looked back up at him, straight into his emerald eyes. She took his hand in hers. “Chat… I know you like me. I think you’ve made that very clear. I know you want to get to know me better. But… we’re superheroes. We can’t reveal ourselves to each other. I’m sure you know that.”

She looked like she expected him to sulk and frown. But to her surprise, he just smiled. “I do. That’s why I’m not pressuring you into doing anything. Until the day comes, I’ll be sitting here waiting for you.”

She blinked. Then she returned with a dazzling, warm grin. “Thank you, Chat. You’re a wonderful person.”

“Do I get a reward for being such a good kitty?”

“As a matter of fact, you do,” she smirked. She leaned in, and Chat took in the view of all her features. Her freckles. Her lips. Her eyes – how could they be so _blue_? And planted a little kiss on his cheek.

It wasn’t done in love or anything of the sort. Chat knew that perfectly well. Yet his mind spontaneously combusted there and then. He stared back at her in disbelief.

She placed a finger on his nose, pushing him back. “Just for tonight,” she said coyly.

He looked at her in astonishment, still in disbelief. He let out a smile, so genuine, so happy – so grateful, she’d come to realise later. “Thank you,” he murmured.

She looked like she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes; Chat scolded himself – it was just a little peck on the cheek! Get a grip. But she leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder. He didn’t move, nor did he utter a single word. He opened his mouth, about to say something, then he decided it’d be better to keep it shut, and the two of them stayed like that for a long time, watching Paris move below.

At last, she stood up. “It’s quite late. We should get going.”

He nodded. “Thank you, my Lady. For tonight, that is. Even if it’s just a one-off thing.”

She smiled. “My pleasure.” She turned, swinging her yo-yo, preparing to soar off into the night. Then he got up and took a step forward.

“Ladybug,” he called out.

“Yes?” she spun around and faced him. Her arms were crossed behind her back and her face curious, waiting for him to say something.

After a moment’s pause, he finally said, “Ladybug. I know you’ve said it already. But I just want to make sure. So that I don’t get my expectations too high. So that I don’t let my mind run wild.”

She nodded, urging him to continue speaking.

“Ladybug… are you mine tomorrow?” he said. “Or are you just mine tonight?”

Her lips curled up wistfully, almost in apology. “Sorry, _chaton_. I think we both know the answer to that.”

He could not hide the disappointment on his face, but he tried his best to appear fine. He nodded. “Good night, my Lady.”

“Good night.”

And then she disappeared into the inky darkness of midnight.

He sighed, and then berated himself silently, for he told himself he should not have expected anything more from Ladybug. But he supposed that he should have looked on the bright side. Even if it was just for one night, he had thoroughly enjoyed Ladybug’s company, and he had never been happier.

He blew at the candles, snuffing them out, and retreated into the night. _Someday_ , he thought. _Someday, she’ll be mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing it. please leave feedback!
> 
> I can be reached on reddit (https://www.reddit.com/user/pun_noir/) and tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nw-we)


	3. One For The Road

Adrien Agreste’s room was several hundred square feet of a male adolescent’s dream. A rock climbing wall. Skateboard ramps. A whole basketball half-court. A zipline (why his safety-conscious father allowed for that to be installed, he did not know). A massive library and an even larger collection of video games. Arcade systems. The most luxurious bedding money could buy. And a top-of-the line, multi-screened computer system, used to track down his crush, obviously.

Yet he had never felt more suffocated in his life sitting in that room.

There were game systems, sports facilities, entertainment rigs – but what was the point of all those if he didn’t have someone to enjoy them with? Plagg wasn’t nearly quite big enough to use a game controller, let alone dribble a ball. And the foosball table was just plainly an insult, a sprinkle of salt in his wounds. He recalled how his mother would acquiesce to his request to play foosball with her, though she did not care much for the sport. He remembered how she’d intentionally swing the little goalkeeper figurine too late and let him score. He reminisced the cries of joy he’d let out when the tiny ball rolled into the goalpost. There weren’t many of those in the Agreste household now – he’d go as far as to say even none.

He stared up at the ceiling blankly, feeling his precious time slip away from his hands – precious time that he could’ve used to be with Ladybug. Then again, she’d told him the previous week she had no intention of being with him, so that didn’t matter. He turned his head to the library. Every single one of those books had been read. The games – every single one cleared, completed and all easter eggs unlocked. He looked at the foosball table – what the hell was the point?

“Damn it,” he cursed. “Plagg.”

The little kwami flew to his side at the mention of his name, wedge of camembert in his hand. “What’s up?”

He looked at the zipline, the basketball hoop, the movie system that he had no one to enjoy with. He thought about how claustrophobic this mini-apartment made him feel.

“Let’s go. Claws out.”

“Wait-” Plagg began, but before he could utter another word, he was drawn towards the silver ring – now black, and he disappeared. Chat Noir scratched one faux leather ear, and he grinned.

He strode towards the window, opening it gingerly. He scanned his surroundings, making sure the Gorilla or Nathalie or any of the house servants weren’t around. He didn’t find them. Satisfied, he slipped through the window, closing it carefully. With the lights in his room turned off, he hopped down below, landing stealthily on the grass without so much as a single rustle of the leaves. He prowled along the shrubs, keeping his profile low, noting all the cameras around the gates. It was easy, almost too easy for Chat Noir to sneak out – it was a routine that had been burned into his mind. He removed the bars in the gate that he’d severed the previous time and crawled through, finding himself on the pavement in the dark of the night.

He snuck away, running into an alley before he brought out his staff and extended it, reaching the roof of the building. He breathed in the refreshing night air and took a look around. A sight that Adrien Agreste would have never been able to see if not for the black ring. Then he leapt off, going from building from building for no other purpose than to revel in the cool wind and feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. This was what his life should have been about. Free.

The night could only have been made better if Ladybug was around, too, as she was during their patrols, but she’d made it clear that she wasn’t going to relent to his advances any time soon. She’d been rejecting his moves for quite some time now, though not verbally – when she’d finally put it in words, they stung much, much more than he expected. But he had to accept it. He wasn’t going to stop trying anytime soon, of course, but they hurt more than anything else could.

He found himself following his usual patrol route, en route to the Eiffel Tower. The greatest landmark in all of Paris. With the extension of his staff and a powerful leap, he flew through the air and landed at the very apex of the structure. He stood proudly, looking at Paris from above. The orange glow of the streetlamps, the hustle of cars, the majesty of it all. Just a few years ago, the mere thought of standing at the very tip of the Eiffel Tower would’ve reduced his legs to a trembling, shaking mess; but it could not have been more different now. His feet were planted firmly on metal, ears perking up every now and then, and he could jump and leap and sprint however he wanted without fear of any danger. He was free.

It was not any surprise, then, that his Miraculous-powered escapades had gone from weekly to nearly nightly. Liberation was a drug, it seemed. An incredibly addicting one at that.

He jumped off the spire, smiling madly and revelling in the chaotic gusts of wind battering his body, then curled his arms as he prepared to land. He leapt down onto hard, sturdy steel. The impact was felt but the pain did not register. Readying his staff, he prepared for yet another jump. Reaching it over his head much like an Olympic pole vaulter would, he planted it on the floor and extended it as far as he could, sending him sprawling across the night sky.

Though he was all but invulnerable to physical damage, he took care to land safely, for he did not wish to see footage of himself crashing into dumpsters on the Ladyblog. He touched down on a concrete roof, finding himself around a residential district. Stealthily prowling along apartment blocks, he made sure to be as quiet as possible, doing his best to avoid stirring any of the area’s residents.

As he moved, he looked around the district; it was not all that far from his school, he realised. Rows of apartment buildings were lined up in neat rows, with its units arranged neatly in columns. Apartment units that a normal person would live in. A decent amount of square feet, a few bedrooms, a kitchen, bathrooms, the bare necessities, and more than enough to satisfy a family of four – and not nearly as suffocating as Adrien’s massive yet lifeless room. Something told him that any other teenage boy would’ve killed to have a bedroom like his, while he would’ve done anything to live under a normal, unassuming roof, just like the one he was walking on.

Pushing aside the aching envy in his heart, he resumed his brisk walk. Something caught his eye – there was a particular window open, with someone leaning out the windowsill, though the lights were off. What could he have been doing? Chat Noir scooted closer to observe. Arching his neck forward and squinting his eyes, he could barely make out a figure with a little cap atop his head, a glass in his hands, staring forlornly into the distance.

_Was that Nino?_

He scuttled closer. It was Nino indeed; though it was dark, his slitted feline pupils aided him in nocturnal vision, and he could clearly make out his olive skin, his glasses, his orange cap, and most notably the glass of lager he was clenching in his fingers. He jumped forward, clawed feet grappling the top of the windowsill, and appeared right in front of Nino’s vision.

“Hi.”

“What the-” Nino exclaimed and staggered backwards, nearly dropping his glass, before clasping his mouth with his palm, not particularly eager to wake the rest of his family up. He carefully set down his hand and gaped at Chat with shock. “Chat Noir? What the hell are you doing here?”

He dislodged himself from the top of the windowsill and landed down at the bottom. He shrugged. “I was bored.”

“Jesus, is that your new pastime? Scaring people shitless in the middle of the night? Making them drop their glassware?”

Chat stifled back a small chuckle. “Sorry. Won’t happen again.” He eased himself, sitting down on the metal frame. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Nino said as straightened himself. “Just drinking my sorrows away.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t quite look sixteen yet.”

Nino waved his hand in dismissal. “I’m a January kid. I’m as good as a year older,” he drawled, taking another swig of his beer.

“You’re fifteen?” Chat asked, feigning ignorance of his age.

Nino nodded. The smell of yeast and alcohol wafted up. Chat looked at the beverage curiously, for he’d never got the chance to try it or even look at it in person. “What’re you drinking away exactly?”

“Nothing, really. Doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t look like the kind who’d drink without any good reason,” he mused.

Nino stared at Chat with what seemed almost like a glare of irritation. His twitching eyelid suggested so, and Chat almost thought he’d tell him off, but he just sighed. “Maybe.”

“Call it cat’s intuition,” Chat smirked. “So what’s up? Failing your tests? Got grounded? Girlfriend issues?”

He knew the first wasn’t quite true. Nino wasn’t the most brilliant student around, nor was he the most hardworking. But he managed to juggle his hobbies and work quite well and more often than not was able to attain a satisfactory grade. Neither was the second, for Nino was quite close to his parents, and they’d never punish without a clear, valid reason – and as far as he’d known recently, nothing of the sort had happened, at least not at school where he’d be able to witness it. Furthermore, neither of the two reasons were a particularly convincing excuse to swipe a beer from his parents’ fridge.

Which only meant…

Nino exhaled. He eyed Chat, seemingly judging if he could trust him with his secrets, then sat down the glass on a chair by the window. “My girlfriend… I dunno. We had a fight. She’s not talking to me.”

Chat’s eyebrows were raised. Alya? Sure, she was an absolutely ferocious creature when provoked. But from what he’d seen she was tender and caring for the people she was close to, and she had at least some level of tolerance before she went fully ballistic. What had Nino done?

“I dunno, man,” Nino rubbed his fingers around his temples. “Everything’s so… I just was talking to this girl, like just talking. Just talking. My mouth, and nothing else. And I think my girlfriend was in a bad mood or something and she absolutely _freaked out_ and accused me of trying to hit her up and we fought. Now she’s not talking to me – wait, I don’t even know if she’s my girlfriend or not, because we never actually declared it officially, and we’ve never said it out loud before, and I don’t know whether to go after or… gah! You get me?”

He turned to Chat with an outstretched hand, gesturing at him and expecting him to nod in agreement. But he just came face-to-face with a particularly surprised blonde, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly parted, the edges of his lips wrinkled in amusement.

“Sorry,” Nino’s shoulders fell. “Nevermind.”

“No, no, I get it,” Chat assured him. “Stuff happens sometimes. I haven’t been exactly stable in the love department either.”

“You and Ladybug?”

His mouth fell open in shock. “How’d you know?”

It was Nino’s turn to chuckle. “You think no one sees the way you look at her?”

“H-How many people know?” he asked shakily, swallowing.

“The whole of Paris, probably.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m afraid not,” Nino said, his lips trembling, about to burst out in laughter at the sight of the blonde’s pale face.

Chat was shaking. _The whole of Paris_! Was he really that obvious? This had to be some sort of joke. He sighed in defeat.

“Unfortunately for Paris,” he muttered, “they may not have much to gossip about for long.”

“What happened?”

Chat breathed out. “She was quite blunt, Ladybug. She basically told me she had no intention of being with me, or that’s what I think she means.” He stared at the ground. “Should’ve saw this coming from the start, really. My luck isn’t the greatest.”

“Damn,” Nino cursed. “We’re in this together, huh?”

“Apparently so.”

Nino leaned against the windowsill, ripping out a fresh can of beer from the cardboard six-pack on the chair. He extended his arm towards Chat. “Want one?”

He recoiled in surprise. His father would not approve, not a single chance. Beer was a commoner’s drink. A poor, distasteful beverage for the lower classes. It was the stuff of drunkards and alcoholics and addicts looking to get a quick fix, or so his impression of beer went, imposed on him by his father. Gabriel Agreste had raised him on fine wines paired with the most exquisite meats and seafood, meant to be savoured slowly during long, formal lunches and dinners. But lager? There was not a single dimension where his father would authorize his consumption of it.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he pried the can from Nino’s hands.

Slipping a single talon under the tab, he yanked up, cracking open the can. A little wispy vapour flowed out. He brought the can to his lips and drank. Cold, refreshing, soothing, yet bitter. A lot like love, it seemed.

Nino simultaneously poured the rest of his glass down his throat. “Love’s a fickle one, huh?”

Chat nodded. Taking a moment’s pause to taste the beer, he looked back at Nino. “You should really talk to Al-” he caught himself, “-your girlfriend. Yeah. You really should. Clear it up.”

“You think so?”

“She’s probably in a better mood. Maybe her friends would’ve cheered her up,” he pointed out, mind drifting to Marinette. If there was anyone who would do that for Alya, it’d be her.

“I guess,” Nino conceded. “And you – don’t stop gunning for Ladybug. You’ll make it someday.”

“You think so?”

Nino chuckled. “Well, if you didn’t, Paris would be sorely disappointed, wouldn’t we?”

“True.”

Nino brought his glass to his lips, only to realise it ran dry. Chat leaned over and poured him a few glugs’ worth of lager. He offered one arm. “Cheers.”

“Here’s one for the road,” Nino smiled.

“For the goddamn awful journey called love.”

“And goddamn amazing,” Nino added.

They clinked their can and glass together, letting a little _plink_ resound throughout the darkness. They drank in silence for a few moments, staying quiet in the night. A cool breeze flowed in, rustling the curtains and Chat’s hair.

 _Love’s a fickle one_. He’d never heard anything truer. He and Ladybug, Alya and Nino – even his mother and his father. It was so tempting, that no human man in history could resist. It created, it made one happy, it completed one’s life. And it destroyed, it brought down, it utterly wrecked.

And it was utterly irresistible.

Chat stood up. “I’d love to talk, but it’s getting late.” He looked towards the night sky, the moon glowing a radiant white. “Good night, Nino. Thanks for little talk,” he waved, setting down his can on the windowsill.

Nino waved back and offered a slight smile. “Don’t drink and drive.”

He chuckled. He turned and leapt, sending him on his way. He followed his trail back, jumping from roof to roof, sprinting along, soaring through the night air, arriving outside the gates of the mansion, just slightly out of sight of the surveillance cameras. He crawled through the rusted gate, ducked through the gardens of the Agreste household and made it back into his room without letting out so much as a single squeak from opening his window.

He de-transformed, and fed Plagg a wedge of camembert, who wouldn’t stop complaining for the sudden transformation earlier. He fell down on his bed in exhaustion. He stared yet again at the ceiling. Was he ever going to get what he wanted? Was true love going to prevail? Was it a good idea to continue to pursue Ladybug? He wasn’t quite sure. All thoughts and gripes about his room or his father promptly evaporated as he tossed and turned in his bed, his lovesick heart aching and nagging at his chest.

He was going to need a drink another one of these days, he thought, if he was going to re-embark on the journey for Ladybug. One for the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! do leave feedback!
> 
> the drinking age for beer in France is 16. please don’t panic.
> 
> I can be reached on reddit (https://www.reddit.com/user/pun_noir/) and tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nw-we)


	4. Arabella

For the fifth time in a mere half an hour, Adrien’s skull collided against the thick wood of his desk with a resounding _bang_. He groaned, his hand idly crushing and crumping the sheet of paper he’d ripped out from one of his school notebooks. He pounded his forehead against his table a few more times in a valiant yet futile attempt to knock some inspiration into his cranium.

When he realised that had no particular effect on stimulating his creative mind, he sat up and leaned back into his chair, slumping down. Plagg, who was sitting by the corner of the desk and devouring wedges after wedges of camembert, shook his head and clucked his tongue.

“Will you humans ever stop trying to do stupid things?”

“Shut up, Plagg,” he grumbled. He stared at the calendar at the side. There, circled in red ink, was the all-important date: 14 February. He turned back to the crumpled paper in his hands, then at the several more scrunched-up pages on the table, all with rejected poems scrawled on their surface – poems for Ladybug.

He apparently wasn’t much of a poet. Victor Hugo’s blood did not run in his veins, he concluded. He’d been wanting to write a poem for Ladybug for quite some time now; he failed to do so the previous year, and was compelled to try again for this Valentine’s Day. He’d consulted thesauruses, dictionaries, studied the works of Valéry, Apollinaire and many more poets whose names had eluded his mind. Yet it seemed like his efforts were in vain. Everything and anything he’d penned down was a slew of clichéd, cheesy love adjectives that could’ve effortlessly posed as lyrics to XY’s music.

He wanted something _special_. Something unforgettable. Something memorable, that Ladybug wouldn’t forget in a matter of weeks. Something meaningful, above all. He didn’t want sappy, tacky love poems, and something told him Ladybug wouldn’t either.

“Maybe I should just give up the whole poem thing,” he muttered to himself, to which Plagg enthusiastically nodded.

He shot his kwami a death glare and stood up. He needed some fresh air. Sitting in a stale, enclosed room was not going to help him get over his writer’s block. He walked over to the window and pushed open its panes. The gusts of wind outside swarmed in, tousling his hair and shirt. He breathed in. Love was in the air on Valentine’s Eve; the chatter, the mood, the tension caused by nervous bachelors doing their utmost to prepare something special was abound. An atmosphere he was contributing to.

The heap of scrap paper sat on his desk as a reminder of how terrible his plans had been going. He stared at the clock. Four-thirty in the afternoon – just about twenty-four hours left, before he met Ladybug on patrol. He was going to make or break himself in those twenty-four hours, and he was damned if he showed up empty-handed. He wasn’t very keen to have to wait three hundred and sixty-five days for another shot.

Plagg, who had finished wolfing down his cheese, hovered up to Adrien. He gestured to the pile of failed poems and smirked. “Those are so cheesy I could almost eat them, Adrien. Come on.”

“I know,” Adrien growled.

“Maybe – just maybe – you should give up.”

Adrien rubbed his face. The poems weren’t working – and even if he managed to conjure up one he deemed satisfactory, who was to say that Ladybug would? Poetry wasn’t exactly in vogue these days. He needed something else.

He collapsed on his couch and stared at the ceiling, mind deep in thought, brow furrowing. _Come on_ , he said to himself in his head. _Think of something._ He needed something he could do or make himself, for it was probably too late to get something from the stores, and Ladybug would probably appreciate something handmade. Anyone would. But he wasn’t any better at making things and arts and crafts as he was with poetry.

His eyelids shut tightly in an effort to concentrate. _Come on_.

He thought of his talents. There had to be something he could do for Ladybug with his numerous talents. Fencing? What was he going to do with a sword and a gaudy steel mesh helmet? Modelling? He wasn’t quite ready to take his ring off and start posing for her, no. Speaking Chinese? He was rather sure the ability to speak a third language didn’t quite make the charm gush out from his body.

Playing the piano?

His eyes shot open. They widened. His mouth curved upwards in a grin. His mind buzzed with inspiration. That was it. The only talent he could use was his musical ability. He could perform for her. Plagg recoiled in surprise as his Chosen’s body suddenly jerked and he sat upwards and ran towards the baby grand sitting in his room.

“Piano?” Plagg asked.

“That’s it. Piano,” Adrien replied, more so murmuring to himself as he lifted the piano lid and eased himself onto the bench. He straightened his back and set his fingers on the keyboard. He breathed in.

What was he going to play? He had decide quickly, for he had just about five hours to perfect the piece – in three hours he’d be called to dinner, which would take another hour, and two hours after that, at ten-thirty, Nathalie would come to his room and ensure he’d go to sleep. In fact, there were many more questions – when was he going to play? At dusk? At night? How and where was he going to play? A piano wasn’t nearly a portable instrument.

But first he had to settle on the piece. He pinched the bridge of his nose and brought up melodies of fugues, sonatas, anything he could think of in his head. He wasn’t sure if Ladybug appreciated classical pieces, though – he needed something contemporary. Something modern, that everyone could appreciate.

Turning to his desk, he scanned its surface for inspiration, intentionally ignoring the heap of paper. His eyes traversed his entire room, desperate for ideas. They landed on a little square at the corner of his table – Jagged Stone’s _Rock Giant_ , Marinette’s signature permanently marked by the side in silver ink strokes. His eyes widened yet again. He found it – Jagged’s biggest album to date, selling over one hundred million records, and landing three chart-toppers at the top of the _Billboard 100_ for several weeks. Lauded by critics and fans alike, it was dubbed the greatest rock album of the decade, thanks to both the music and art.

He faced the piano again. His left hand hovered along the bass notes, tentatively waiting for a moment to strike. His pinky, middle finger and thumb pushed down all of a sudden, playing a chord. The first chord of _Arabella_ , he recognised after taking a moment to process the sound. It was on virtually every radio channel in the world for months after its release. This would do.

He played the song from memory, his improvisation filling in the gaps he’d forgotten, his fingers never stopping, the sounds never ceasing, from start to finish. His mind went completely white as he was absorbed in the notes, into his playing, and it was reflected in the melodies produced. Even Plagg couldn’t help but stop and stare for a while.

His hands played the final bar, and brought the song to its end. The notes gradually swelled away, and his room quietened once more, he looked up at Plagg with a massive grin.

“That’ll do,” he beamed. “That’s it. She’s gonna love it.”

“What if she hates rock?” Plagg chuckled cynically.

“Oh, get out,” he shot Plagg a sideways look. “Everyone loves Jagged Stone.”

“And you’re telling me you’re going to lug your piano onto a rooftop for Ladybug? I’m not transforming for that.”

“I’ll think about that later. For now, practice.”

Plagg rolled his eyes as he drifted back to the comforts of Adrien’s bed and crashed into the pillows. He paid him no heed. The only thing on his mind was the song – he had to practice, practice, practice, strip off all his rust, polish his skills, perfect the piece. He was set on it, and there was no distracting Adrien Agreste now.

He set his fingers once again on the keyboard, and pushed down.

* * *

 

Chat Noir set perched on the edge of a concrete roof. Valentine’s Day was in full swing, and it was wreaking its blessings, and its havoc. From above, he’d already counted six hearts broken and eight successful proposals since he finished his patrol. He and Ladybug were incredibly lucky there hadn’t been any akuma attacks just yet. Perhaps Hawkmoth was busy. Perhaps he had a Valentine of his own (as shocking as that thought was). At any rate, he was just grateful his day hadn’t been ruined thus far.

“Mischief, thou art afoot,” he chuckled.

“I didn’t know you read Shakespeare,” came a female voice behind him. Ladybug sauntered over, the soles of her feet clacking against the floor.

He turned around and smiled. “This cat isn’t exactly a stray, you know.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Meo-wch,” he winced, placing a palm against his chest. But his smile was still plastered on his face, and unbeknownst to Ladybug, his heart was pounding, and his legs would’ve trembled if he wasn’t in Miraculous form.

There was a brief moment’s quiet. The cold February air blew forth, dishevelling their hair. Ladybug craned her neck forward and peered at him, eyes narrowing. “What surprise do you have for me this time round?”

He grinned. “You saw right through me. Am I that obvious?”

She smirked. “Evidently so. What’s it this year? Roses? Orchids? Tulips?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. Wrong! Thank you for playing.”

“Chocolates.”

He crossed his arms in an _X_ shape.

“What is it?” she frowned.

“You’ll see,” he winked. “We’re just waiting for a bit. For the right time.” He tapped his foot on the ground impatiently as looked at a nearby clock tower. Soon, he told himself. He’d planned the whole affair after hours of consideration late into the night, and they had to depart, he’d calculated, at seven p.m. exactly.

“Come on. Let the cat out of the bag,” she huffed.

Watching the clock’s hands move sluggishly, he raised his index finger, urging her to patient just a little longer. When they shifted into seven o’ clock, he stood up. The sun was disappearing over the horizon, casting an orange glow over the whole of lovestruck Paris. He turned around and faced his Lady, offering an arm.

“Follow me,” he said.

She blinked at him, hesitating for a moment. Then she gingerly outstretched her hand, gripping his forearm. He smiled warmly. “You won’t be disappointed. I promise.”

He leapt, pulling Ladybug along as they soared through the air. The both of them looked down at the sprawling city below; a sight they’d seen hundreds of times by now, but it was different when they had their arms linked. It was a sight they shared, them alone, and they reveled in that fact. The two of them, an inseparable team. He smiled idly as the thought about how Ladybug’s hand felt. Warm. Inviting. How it made his heart flutter.

They came down to rest on a roof adjacent to a twenty-metre tall, Deco-style concrete building with an exterior stone relief, looking rather plain as compared to some other structures in Paris when seen by the common eye, but known to Parisians all over.

 Ladybug’s eyes widened. “The Théâtre des Champs-Élysées? Why are we here?” She looked at Chat’s grinning face for an answer.

She let out a shrill yelp as Chat seized her by the legs, carrying her bridal-style, and vaulted over the Théâtre’s roof, landing at a side entrance. With blinding speed, he dashed through the doors, through the hallways, into backstage.

He stepped into the concert hall, Ladybug in his arms. The two of them marvelled at the grandeur of the hall; the lights may have been turned off, but its beauty was evident. The room arched on for several feet, its dome carefully and precisely carved for the hall’s acoustics. There was beautifully veneered carved marble, reliefs, massive pillars. It was undoubtedly majestic.

He sat Ladybug back on her two feet. Without a second’s hesitation, she smacked his shoulder.

“Ow!”

“What the hell were you thinking?” she rebuked. “Someone could’ve seen us!”

“That doesn’t matter,” he smirked. He walked into the back yet again and flicked on the spotlight on the stage, revealing a pristine, gleaming grand piano. Nothing at all like the baby grand in his room, it stood nearly three metres long, one and a half metres wide, its black exterior immaculate and spotless. He strolled over, tracing one finger over it as he walked past.

Ladybug gasped as the spotlight shone on. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

“Isn’t it?” He pulled out the piano bench and sat down, lifted the lid, and gingerly pressed a single key. The sound was incomparable to anything he’d heard before. His lips curved upwards with glee, much like a child on Christmas would.

Ladybug’s head darted around. “Chat,” she hissed. “We’re not allowed here. Come on.”

“It’s okay. The staff have all just left about a minute ago.”

She looked at him incredulously. “You _planned_ this?”

“Of course I did,” he chuckled. “I did my due research. The only people in this building are the security. At any rate, I bet they’re too busy dozing off to hear anything.”

“What do you have in mind, exactly?” She asked quizzically as she raised an eyebrow.

Lifting his arms dramatically in the air, he set his fingers down on the piano keys and let out a tremendous chorus of notes. “To play for you, My Lady.”

He would’ve paid good money to rewind time and see the astonished look on her face again. She gawked at him, her eyes darting between him and the piano. “You can play the piano?”

He smirked. “This cat has a few tricks up its sleeve.”

He gestured over for Ladybug to take a seat with him. She promptly sat down to his right, and his heart pounded at the contact. She stared at the piano in awe. His fingers ran over the keys briefly, but he frowned. “It’s kinda hard to play with these claws. If you don’t mind…” He wagged his finger, signalling for Ladybug to turn around.

“O-Oh. Sure.” She spun round and shut her eyes tightly.

“Claws out,” he instructed, and Plagg emerged from the ring. He winked at Plagg, placing his index finger over his lips, to which his kwami simply rolled his eyes. He hovered down and came to rest on his left shoulder.

Now in civilian form, his fingers felt much more natural. He stretched his arms and neck and cracked his knuckles. He looked down at Ladybug, whose head was resting on his right shoulder with her eyes shut. His heart ached at the thought of how exposed he felt, how he could’ve simply revealed himself to his loved one there and then. But that did not matter currently. Only the performance did.

“I hope you like Jagged Stone,” he murmured.

“Love him,” she grinned.

He breathed in. It was now or never. “Then you’ll like this.”

His fingers hovered over the keys. His head was pounding and his legs trembled with an unnatural anxiety. He wasn’t a stranger to this sort of nervousness – he remembered when he’d first made his appearance on the catwalk, when his father had taken him to his first piano recital, when he stood before his opponent at his first fencing tournament. Yet he’d never felt so utterly agitated and uneasy. The hours of practice he’d put in the day before still hadn’t managed to conquer the swarm of butterflies wreaking havoc in his stomach.

His nose exhaled, his lungs clearing and his shoulder sinking. Then with the fury of a virtuoso, he pressed down on the keys with a firm yet not overly aggressive touch, as if he was coaxing the tunes out of the instrument, and began playing. His fingers flew, his eyes traced the keyboard, his feet frantically stepped on the pedals. Had he not been so absorbed in his playing, he may have noticed Ladybug’s astonished gasp at hearing the first measure of the song, followed by a satisfied grin as she let his music take over her.

He pressed the keys forcefully, sometimes with a little gentler touch, trying his utmost to preserve the dynamics of the piece as well as he could. The piano was his tool, and he was its master, and it was up to him to bring out the most of the instrument as well as he could.

His playing was so masterful one could have sworn it was a human voice singing the song, the way he manipulated the volume and feel of the notes so artfully. The song descended into the chorus. Ladybug hummed along effortlessly.

“ _My days end best when the sunset gets itself_

_Behind the little lady sitting on the passenger side_

_It’s much less picturesque without her catching the light_

_The horizon tries but it’s just not as kind on the eyes_ ”

The tempo of the song picked up its pace, and it was time for the guitar solo he’d transcribed for the keyboard. With a light, dexterous touch that belied the speed and intensity of the melody, he readily let out note after note. The sounds all swarmed up in a magnificent cacophony of unrestrained tunes, swelling up gradually, making his heart pound and beat at his ribcage.

And with a final dramatic frenzy, he set his hands down on the keyboard for the last time, bringing the song to its completion.

He opened his eyes that he’d never realised were closed. His lungs gasped for air, and it came to him that he hadn’t been breathing for some time now. The sounds slowly swelled into silence, as there was before, and a massive grin found its way on his face. He looked back at Ladybug’s smiling face, so tranquil and calm.

He sat his arms back on his lap. Ladybug’s eyes fluttered open, though she did not turn to face him, and her gaze was still planted on the spruce flooring.

“That was amazing,” she whispered.

“I’m glad you liked it. It’s a magical song, isn’t it?” he smiled. “Claws out.” At the utterance of those words, he was once again brought back into his Miraculous form.

Ladybug nodded her head and looked at him, the happiest he’d ever seen her been. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

He scratched his head sheepishly. “Well-”

A rumbling of footsteps was heard, getting louder with every passing second. His eyes widened. “We gotta go.”

“Chat?” Ladybug did not have time to say more as she was tugged along by Chat, sprinting ferociously to escape.

The doors slammed open. A tall, muscled security guard stood in the doorway with a flashlight in his hand. They barely got a glimpse of him before they darted out of the concert hall.

“Stop!” a voice boomed from behind. But they ignored the voice and continued running. He hadn’t seen them yet. If they were quick enough…

The two of them came to a stop as they found themselves at the end of a hallway. Too long to escape without being identified. The guard would’ve caught up to them before they could make it out. Chat bit his lip. He wasn’t exactly keen to appear on the tabloids who would invariably have the headlines _Chat Noir and Ladybug sneaks into dark concert hall alone on Valentine’s Day_.

Ladybug looked around frantically. If anyone could get them out of this, it had to be her, he thought. Her incredibly nimble mind had saved them from the clutches of akuma more than once, and it couldn’t be any different this time round.

After a moment’s hesitation, she swung her yo-yo up. “Lucky Charm!”

As luck would have had it, a red, black polka-dotted key fell into her palm. She looked back at the door behind her and reached for the doorknob. “Please let it fit. Please fit,” she muttered.

The footsteps were mere metres away know. Chat bit his lip so hard he was surprised he hadn’t drew blood just yet. She shut the door and inserted the key into its keyhole.

It slid in with ease. She turned it sideways and a satisfying _click_ was heard, followed by a desperate pounding on the other end. The both of them breathed a sigh of relief. She shot him a glower.

“Sorry. Didn’t expect it,” he said as he raised his arms in surrender.

Her angered expression quickly faded into playfulness as she smirked. “Let’s go.”

Running out of the Théâtre through the back and with a quick swing of their yo-yo and staff, they found themselves back on a roof, looking down at Paris from above yet again. They stood in silence for a while. The sun had set and darkness was cast on the city yet again, who seemed to resist the dark with the orange warmth of its lights. Peaceful and at ease.

He turned to Ladybug, looking at her face. He wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her closer, his face mere inches away from hers. He could feel her breath, make out every detail of her extraordinary blue eyes. His veins pumped faster than ever before.

“C-Chat?” she stammered.

He brought her even closer. He shut his eyes, waiting for her lips to meet his. He approached her lips, centimetre by centimetre, closer and closer-

The damned beep of her earrings caused his eyes to flash wide open. She raised an index finger between their lips. She smirked – though it seemed to be a cross between a smirk and a sad smile at the same time.

“Sorry, but I’m about to turn into a pumpkin,” she chuckled. “I don’t think you’d like to kiss one.”

“O-Oh.” The disappointment was evident in his voice, and he made no attempt to hide it.

“But really, Chat,” she smiled at him. “That was one of the best presents I’ve ever received. Thank you. I mean it.”

She wrapped him in a warm hug, causing him to stiffen. After a stunned second, he returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around her. Perhaps a kiss would come much, much later, but he was content to have a hug for now.

She retracted and looked at his face, to which she promptly tapped with a finger. “You’re blushing,” she giggled.

“Am I?” he murmured.

She nodded and giggled. “See you around, _chaton_ ,” she waved. “And thank you.”

And she was gone.

* * *

 

Adrien turned up to school half-dead the following day. He’d tossed and turned all night like a little child on his birthday after that hug. Childish, he knew, but he couldn’t help it at all, try as he might. With a stupid, lovesick grin, he stumbled through the front gates of the school. His eyes spotted Marinette as she made her way to the locker room.

As he made his way closer, he could make out something she was whistling – he winced his eyes in concentration, trying to discern the tune – then his eyes widened. It was the chorus to _Arabella_. He smiled and walked over.

“Hey, Marinette,” he called out.

He could’ve sworn she’d just _squealed_ at the mention of her name, but he figured he was just jumping to conclusions. She spun round with an inhuman speed, facing him. “M-Morning, Adrien!”

He returned a smile in greeting as he opened the locker next to hers. “You seem to be in a good mood today,” he remarked.

“Well, you’re using the mittens I sewed for you,” she sheepishly pointed out. “Of course I’m happy someone’s using my work.”

He looked down at his gloved hands. The mittens he’d received from her the previous day were of superb quality, better than anything he could get in a department store, even dare he say it – his father’s brand. It was February and the chill was clearing up, but he appreciated the gift all the same.

“They’re really well made, Marinette.”

She blushed at the compliment. “Thanks,” she murmured.

He shut the locker. “Were you whistling _Arabella_?”

She seemed surprised that he recognised the tune. “Yeah,” she smiled. “It’s one of my favourites. It’s a magical song, isn’t it?”

He grinned absently, recalling the words that came out of his mouth just twelve hours prior. _It’s a magical song, isn’t it?_ If it helped him score points with his Lady, it had to be magical, wouldn’t it?

“Yeah. It really is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arabella is, of course, a song from the AM album. one of my favourites. give it a listen!
> 
> I can be reached on reddit (https://www.reddit.com/user/pun_noir/) and tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nw-we)


	5. I Want It All

The weather is not ideal for the outdoors; then again, it never is when father and son decide to head out. Since the break of dawn, the sky has been characterised by a hanging gloom. Shadows cling to the clouds like a moth to a flame, cordoning off the sunlight. The rain refuses to let up, dotting the limousine’s windows with flecks of water, clouding up the passengers’ vision.

Gabriel Agreste sits on the left side of the back seats, right behind Nathalie; she manages his schedule while the bodyguard drives. She cancels any sudden appointments and declines interviews and turns away any media attention. The bodyguard is sat firmly in the driver’s seat, mammoth hands gripping the wheel. Fifteen year-old Adrien Agreste sits on the right, face downcast and moody, very much unlike the stoic, unrelenting face of his father.

Both Agrestes are still, their arms rested on their lap, looking straight out the front window. The wipers swing and brush away the rain frantically, but to no avail. The glass is as hazy as ever. The bodyguard is well-trained to handle these kind of situations, however, and his eyes just manage to discern the road ahead.

The road is familiar to the Agrestes and their employees. The journey is made four times a year and the landscape does not ever change. The gravel is bumpy as always, and Adrien looks up as the road becomes more recognisable; a right turn, followed by an uphill path, and a winding circular road up a hill, before the car stops next to an archaic stone building, its figure still visible through the clouded windows.

Nathalie and the bodyguard promptly exit the car, raindrops peppering their leather seats as they open the doors, and the audible bombarding of rain on their umbrellas are heard as they unfurl them. The doors are closed, and they approach their masters. Opening Adrien’s door, the bodyguard places his umbrella over his head, careful not to let even a single drop of water reach his thin frame for fear of a reprimand from his overprotective father. The rain soaks him to the bone, but it is after all part of his job description and he walks on in silence as he escorts Adrien into the building.

Gabriel Agreste soon joins the two of them in the building, shielded from the rain by Nathalie. She folds up the umbrella and leaves it by the door as she walks through the wooden doors.

The chapel is soulless with not a single person in sight. Despite this, it is well maintained. Not a speck of dust can be seen anywhere. A chandelier hangs from a ceiling, brightly lit. The pews are neat and clean, its mahogany looking sharp and brilliant despite its age. The walls are polished granite that arch upwards, culminating in a several-foot high dome at the far end of the chapel.

A statue of the Virgin Mary stands tall, her sculpted robes flowing and pristine, the jewellery around her neck sparkling, the bangle round her wrist gleaming. Her face is calm and serene, and it beckons one to forget about the ills in life and confide in her. The stained glass behind her shines brilliantly even in the clouded weather.

“Your mother’s favourite chapel seems to be holding up well,” Gabriel Agreste remarks to his son, who simply nods silently.

A man emerges from a side door, drawn by the noise of footsteps. He is old and gaunt, his frame supported by a wooden cane, and he walks with a hunch. Yet his eyes sparkle with a kindness and warmth and his gait is firm and steady. A smile is plastered on his face, wrinkling his features. He turns to the familiar visitors.

“Gabriel,” he greets. “Welcome.”

Gabriel walks over to the old man and places a hand on his shoulder. “Martin. It has been long.”

“I last saw you two in winter,” he says. He turns to the blonde-haired boy. “Hello, Adrien.”

Adrien is not in the best of moods, but he respects the old man as a family friend, and as a friend of his mother. He puts on his best smile. “Hello, Martin.”

Nathalie offers a curt nod towards Martin; the bodyguard simply stands unwavering and still as he always is.

Martin shuffles his sandal-clad feet towards Adrien. “How have you been?”

He wants to reply that he is hurt, that his mother’s disappearance has affected him more than he ever knew it would, that his father’s irresponsible negligence is upsetting him greatly. But he instead assures Martin that all is fine.

Satisfied with the answer, the frail man turns towards the Virgin Mary. “Her face,” he says, gesturing towards the statue. “Just like your mother’s.”

Adrien nods wordlessly again, and it is clear to most in the room that he misses his mother greatly. His father sighs.

“Indeed,” Gabriel Agreste mutters.

Martin points towards the side door. “Would you like some coffee, Gabriel?”

“It would be most appreciated.”

Martin nods and walks away, his old cane thumping on the wooden floor rhythmically. As the door shuts behind him, the Agrestes walk towards the statue, observing it with wistful eyes. They seat themselves at the front pew.

“It does not seem all that long ago that your mother and I walked down this aisle,” Gabriel says to his son.

They both glance towards the aisle. In Gabriel’s mind, he conjures up all-familiar images; his parents seated at the front pew as he is now, Emilie’s mother seated opposite them. Friends – though scarce – are dotted throughout the rows of pews. He is standing on the podium, hands clammy and gripping the back of his shirt, try as he may to put on a neutral face. Emilie walks through the door, her arm around her father’s. She is clad in a frilly, immaculate wedding dress and a white veil covers her face. Every step she takes causes his heart to skip a beat as she draws closer. And finally, he lifts the veil off, revealing her impossibly beautiful face, her green eyes staring into his soul. The wedding processions follow, the vows were spoken and rings were exchanged. A day on unbridled, unrivalled joy.

Those days were far and few between now.

Adrien once again nods. He wants to cry – he wants to drop all pretence of being Gabriel Agreste’s perfect son and revert back to the emotionally frail young boy that he truly is. He wants to cry on his father’s shoulder and have his mother by his side again. But his face does not waver.

The rickety side door creaks open once more. Martin emerges, his cane in his right hand, a tray in his left. The tray holds a pot of coffee and several porcelain cups stacked upon each other. The bodyguard walks over and offers to carry the tray, to which Martin graciously accepts. He brings the tray over to the Agrestes, pouring them a cup each.

They sip the piping hot beverage gratefully, giving them some respite from the cold.

“The memory of being your wedding pastor still seems fresh in my mind,” Martin remarks as he sits on the pew besides Gabriel.

He nods. “I am grateful for that eternally. You helped us plan the whole procession. For that I must thank you.”

“Think nothing of it,” he says. “Have you any news about Emilie?”

It pains Adrien to see his father shake his head with sorrow. “None. I have contacted government agencies, browsed networks… nothing.”

Adrien almost wants to say “You mean Nathalie did it,” but he keeps silent.

“But rest assured,” his father continues to Martin – and partly to his son too – “I have enlisted the services of several information agencies and search parties in hundreds of countries around the world. She will be found.”

It is partly a lie. He has indeed used such organizations to help find his wife – but not in as many countries as he has boasted. He leaves out the fact how he is devoting his attention to find the Miraculouses.

Martins nods in satisfaction. “Good. Don’t let Adrien go without his mother. Poor boy, you must be thinking of her every day.”

“Yeah,” Adrien chokes out. He sniffles and his eyes are fighting back tears.

This is also partly a lie. He does think of his mother with every passing moment. But recently, he has devoted much of his attention to his Miraculous duties. Battling Hawkmoth. Being with Ladybug. That is what is on his mind more often than not. He knows that if his mother knew what he was doing, she would encourage him; she would put herself second and the safety of Paris first. So he devotes his energy to saving the city.

“Come,” Martin says he stands. “Let us pray for the return of your mother.”

The two Agrestes stand and follow him towards the statue. Martin leaves his cane by the pew; the bodyguard tries to support his arm, but Martin graciously refuses help. He intertwines his hands and so do father and son. They look towards the Virgin Mary, and the stained glass with a cross etched in the middle. They bow their heads.

“Let us pray in the most holy presence of the Lord,” he begins. “Let us pray that Emilie Agreste will come home quickly. We pray that she will be home safe and sound, for both her husband and her child. We pray…”

Martin continues on. But both Agrestes are not listening. If one were to peer into their minds, one could find them wishing for very different things.

_Give me the Miraculous_ , Gabriel says in his head. _I need them both. For my wife and for my son._

_If there is a God, please,_ Adrien is thinking. _Let Ladybug and I put an end to Hawkmoth’s terror, and allow me to find my mother. Please_.

“In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” Martin concludes. “Amen.”

_Please, Lord,_ both Agrestes mutter under their breath, just quietly enough such that no one else in the room could discern what they are saying. _I want it all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short and sad one. there will be more adrienette next chapter. don't fret.
> 
> weddings in France are probably different from what was described.
> 
> please share and leave kudos if you liked it. thank you for reading!
> 
> I can be reached on reddit (https://www.reddit.com/user/pun_noir/) and tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nw-we)


	6. No.1 Party Anthem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which our two grown-up protagonists hit the club.

Marinette’s resolve, it seemed, was about as brittle as the glass cup she gripped in her hands.

“Come on,” Alya nudged.

She buried her face in her hands. “I can’t,” she wailed.

“You of all people know Adrien Agreste isn’t gonna be waiting forever.”

Marinette sighed. Of all places to get a chance to hit Adrien up – a party? It wasn’t that she minded parties. In fact she loved to get on the dancefloor when the party was done right; have a few drinks, dance, let loose and have some fun for a while. But it wasn’t where she wanted to date Adrien at all.

“It’s just… I don’t want to hit him up at a party, you know?”

Alya frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not romantic,” she said.

This elicited a prompt, sharp breath from Alya, followed by a scrunching of lips and gritting of teeth. “Marinette,” she looked at her best friend in the eye. “This is not the Renaissance. It’s the twenty-first century. You will not get your candlelight dinners and stargazing adventures anytime soon.”

“But Alya-”

“Girl! There are no Montagues or Capulets! Just music and dancefloors and drinks,” Alya nearly shrieked at her.

“Exactly!” Marinette protested. “I don’t want all the music and dancefloors and drinks. I want it to be _romantic_. What if I approach him now and he thinks I’m just looking for a hookup or something?”

Alya took another deep breath – was she actually _quaking_? – and gripped Marinette by the shoulders. “Mari. That’s not gonna happen.”

“But-”

“Stop overthinking!” she exclaimed. “Every time you get a good shot your imagination goes wild and you lose it.”

Marinette bit her lip. As much as she loathed to admit it, Alya was right. How many times had she botched an opportunity to be with her crush? Probably more times than she could count.

Still, the insecurity was eating her away from within. What if her fears weren’t unfounded? What if she made a move on Adrien and he thought she was just looking for some fun? It was a noisy, after-midnight party after all. Didn’t those kind of things happen at these kind of clubs? What if he deemed her a floozy?

“What?” Alya screeched.

“Um… did I say that aloud?” Marinette sheepishly asked.

“Two things. Number one, Adrien’s not such an asshole. You know that,” Alya began. “Number two, if actually does think you’re a slut, I’m gonna kill him.”

“I imagine you would.”

“So there,” she huffed. “There’s literally nothing to be afraid of. Just _go_. Like a normal human girl.”

“Alya, I don’t really feel like it. Maybe another time.”

“Mari, I’m not gonna push you if you really don’t want to,” Alya said. “But think about it. This is your golden chance. You’re not gonna waste it, are you? You’ve been stuck in the friendzone for literally _four years_.”

“Okay, okay,” Marinette surrendered. “I’ll try.”

“Good. And while you’re at it could you at least _try_ to act like you’re having a good time?”

“Was I really that obvious?”

“You look like you’d rather be in Mendeleiev’s class,” Alya snorted. “Seriously, what’s so bad about this place?”

“There’s nothing wrong with the place, or I’d be insulting your boyfriend,” she said, jabbing a thumb towards the DJ booth where Nino manned the mixing console with a pair of headphones on, hips swaying to the groove. “It’s just all so… fake, you know?”

Alya raised an eyebrow. Marinette continued, “I mean, parties should be for fun. Dancing. Going wild. Whatever. But what’s the point if I’m just coming here to hit Adrien up? Pretending to have fun just so I can catch his eye? Going through the motions? My legs are so shaky I can barely get on the dancefloor.”

“So it’s your nerves, in short,” Alya concluded.

“Well, sort of. I’d just much rather try to be with Adrien naturally, you know?”

Marinette took a quick sip of her drink. She couldn’t exactly remember – when had parties became less about having fun and more about trying to impress Adrien? When had they lost their uniqueness because she was just gunning for her crush all along? She’d much rather be on patrol with Chat Noir and having rooftop conversations than be at a party, frankly speaking. And that spoke volumes about her current mood seeing as how she’d savagely rejected him a week back.

“Well, I kind of get what you mean,” Alya said.  “You do make some sense. But you won’t be getting many opportunities to grab him. We’re not in lycee. You two are nineteen. And sooner or later someone is going to come along and swoop Adrien away.”

“I know,” Marinette sighed. “I guess I’ll try.”

“You’d better, before Chloe Bourgeois takes him.”

Marinette jolted upright. “She’s here?”

Alya chuckled. “You didn’t know? She’s here getting wasted with Sabrina like, five days a week. Or so I heard. I think her family owns the place.”

Her courage instantly hardened. There was no way in hell she was going to let Chloe steal Adrien – well, Adrien wouldn’t ever become hers, he was more sensible than that – but she wasn’t going to let her jeopardize her chances.

“Alright, I’m going to find Adrien,” Marinette muttered, gulping down the rest of her drink in hopes that the alcohol would give her the final push she needed. It helped – somewhat. She just hoped it didn’t make her too tipsy to hold a proper conversation.

“There you go. Getting all riled up at the mention of Chloe,” Alya snickered. “Some things never change.”

“Shut up.”

Alya whipped out her phone, one hand scrolling through the glass screen, the other gripping the leather of the barstool. Her thumb tapped the screen a few times. “You’re gonna have to thank Nino later for setting the two of you up.”

“I repay all my debts,” Marinette said. “What’s Nino saying?”

She craned her head, trying to catch a glimpse of Alya’s messages. Alya faced the phone towards her.

_Nino: tell nette_

_Nino: im dropping a banger_

_Nino: in 2 mins_

_Nino: her chance_

Alya withdrew her arm. “So in case that wasn’t clear, he’s going to play some raving party anthem. And that’s your cue to find Adrien. Got it?”

Marinette wrinkled her nose. “What, some boring remix from Momentum? Can’t he get his hands on a Jagged Stone vinyl?”

“I mean, Momentum has literally zero talent and any decent musician could learn his entire discography in like five minutes, but you gotta admit his songs have the party vibe,” Alya said. “The moment the tune drops, get yourself to the dancefloor and find Adrien. You can go dance, grind, whatever. He’ll be there.”

“Alya, I have no intention of grinding against Adrien. And how do you know he’ll be there?”

“Your loss – and come on, when a song like that comes on, where else would he be?”

Marinette turned towards the dancefloor, filled with a massive mob of party-goers. It was glowing different shades and colours every second and the subwoofers by the side rumbled ferociously. She couldn’t exactly imagine Adrien in that kind of environment – he looked so refined, so dignified that she thought it impossible for him to be in the crowd dancing to the beat with his arms in the air. Then again, she never thought he’d ever turn up to a club like this and had been proven wrong when Nino brought him over. She wasn’t exactly the best judge of his character, she supposed.

The song began to reach its closure. The synthesizers began to fade, the thundering bass died down and the pulsating beats throbbed no longer. Alya leaned over and took Marinette’s hands in glee. “It’s time. Come on.”

“Alya-”

“No more buts! This is your chance,” she gushed. She turned towards the DJ set expectantly. “Come on, come on, come on. Where’s the number one party anthem she needs?”

As she finished speaking her final words, the speakers thundered to life again, bass drums quaking the whole club. “Alright!” Alya shouted triumphantly. “Go, girl! Go!”

“Are you sure he’ll be in there?” Marinette muttered, eyes glancing furtively towards the crowd.

Alya rolled her eyes. “No, Marinette. He changed his name to Juan a month ago. He’s actually the bartender. He’d never be in the one place where everyone would be.”

The sarcasm that came out of her mouth was almost more overwhelming than the booming subwoofers. “Fine. I get it. Just give me some time to… mentally prepare myself.”

“If you’re still jittery my cup isn’t empty just yet.”

“I’ll take that,” Marinette said, taking a quick gulp of Alya’s drink. The alcohol burned in her gullet and steeled her nerves. “Thanks, Alya. Wish me luck.”

“Now go! Before the moment’s gone,” Alya grinned.

Marinette took a deep breath and shut her eyes. She wasn’t quite sure why she was this nervous, but her stomach churned and her heart was pounding away. _I can do this_ , she told herself. _Everything’s going to be just fine._ Her eyelids fluttered open again. She looked at the dancefloor. She was ready. She was going to march into the mob, dance around and find-

She blinked as her eyes met Adrien Agreste’s, standing about forty metres away. His green eyes looked directly into hers, and they widened. He was dressed in a leather jacket and crumpled white shirt – buttoned one button too low – and black pants, and his hair was uncharacteristically tousled and messy. She gulped. His emerald irises sparkled and he mouth fell open just slightly ajar at the sight of her.

Then hjs mouth broke out in a grin and he strode towards her. Her heart picked up its pace. He was walking _towards her_? She didn’t have to make a single move?

Alya, having noticed Adrien as well, gasped in joy. “Holy shit. You two are destined,” she said. “Go on.”

She pushed Marinette out of her barstool and she stumbled as she found her footing. Marinette looked back up. Adrien was still walking towards her. She wasn’t imagining it. The gap was closing. It was her chance.

_Come on, come on, come on. Before the moment’s gone!_

She braced herself and began her brisk walk towards her crush.

* * *

 

Adrien wasn’t exactly in the best of moods. Perhaps that was why he even found himself in the club in the first place.

He straightened his jacket, patting his left pocket to make sure Plagg was in there and sighed. He felt so… out of place here. He looked completely ready to party – dressed like a model, shirt buttoned a tad bit too low, jacket collar popped up like Cantona, hair messy and eyes glinting – completely at home in the crowd. But he was never one to party. Perhaps a ball, or a nice, quaint lounge with his friends with slow live music; but not a mob of strangers jumping up and down, getting drunk and wasting their life away in the mayhem.

The only dancing Gabriel Agreste had ever made him learn was to be used in the ballroom. He wasn’t quite sure how act. Was he supposed to nod his head? Wave his arms? He didn’t know. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He moved around with an almost natural strut, honed by years of modelling, and felt the eyes of several female party-goers eyeing him voraciously. Perhaps he did it to mask his loneliness. He didn’t know.

The past week had been an absolute emotional trainwreck. Years and years of gunning after Ladybug had born no fruit and it was wearing him down as the months ticked by. Somewhere along the way – he was quite unsure when – he’d begun to consider finding someone other than Ladybug. Someone similar in personality, that he would have an actual chance at bagging. He’d held off the idea for months now, believing it to be unjust if he’d went after some girl as just a replacement for Ladybug. As long as he still loved her any other woman would be second-rate in his eyes. Just a substitute, no matter how alike she may be.

That notion came crumbling down as he professed his love for Ladybug, genuinely and sincerely. Which was, as he’d later come to see, a mistake. The outright rejection had stabbed his heart and reduced it to cinders, leaving him a sobbing mess for the past week. And he decided that it was pointless to keep going for a girl he didn’t even know, coming to the decision after several bottles of gin.

Tired of having spent a week hunched over wooden tables with a shot glass in his hand, he’d called Nino and asked him for advice. He didn’t tell him all the details, but just explained just enough for him to understand the gist of the situation. And his best friend, after some contemplation, recommended him Marinette.

It made sense, really. He’d been a fool for not realising earlier. She was strong. Bold. Kind. Maybe a little clumsy, but it made her look cute more often than not. And though he tried not to think about it explicitly, she really was like Ladybug. Playful, yet serious and headstrong when it was called for. The similarities were striking. Hell, he had begun to wonder if she _was_ Ladybug. But he decided to not jump to conclusions.

After much consideration, Adrien relented, and Nino went about trying to play matchmaker. He texted him the day before, telling him how he was going to DJ at a club and how Marinette might be going.

And that’s where he found himself currently. Among a mob of drunks and manic party-goers.

He should’ve just told Marinette himself directly that he was going to the party and joined them before. Alas, now he was stuck in the crowd, trying to shear away the horde of people and make his way out of the woods.

His phone buzzed in his hand. A text from Nino.

_Nino: cool song coming up now_

_Nino: go find nette!!_

Easier said than done in the crowded building.

He stumbled forward, one arm extended to part the crowd and get his way through. He almost felt like Moses. “Sorry, coming through,” he’d mutter every few seconds to get the people to make way. He hastily deflected any advances made by the female party-goers – god, the makeup must’ve weighed as much as they did – and murmuring the occasional “Sorry, I’m taken.”

He supposed that was sort of a lie. He wasn’t taken. Not just yet.

Nino wasn’t lying when he said a song was coming up. Whether it was as cool as he said was an entire different debate. The speakers thundered to life, making him wince at the explosion of noises, causing the floor to quake and his ears to be filled with sound. It had the party appeal, he supposed, but had nothing musically redeeming.

He continued walking. This was quite sad, really – parties were meant to be for fun. Not stumbling around awkwardly the whole night to find someone to get over his heartbreak. He’d rather do that at home. Observing all the people around him confirmed his hunch; it was a routine, not a party. They danced, pretended to laugh, all cheering when the new hit anthems came on, all trying to bag someone from the club. There were better ways to get a significant other, he thought.

It was hypocritical, though, to think that. He was here for the exact same reason. He pushed the thought out of his head and continued walking. If he couldn’t find Marinette he was just going to drop her a text. He wasn’t sure if she knew he was here. Maybe Nino had told her; maybe he hadn’t. Either way it did not matter. He just needed to know where she was.

At long last, he made it out of the dancefloor and breathed a sigh of relief. The claustrophobic feeling was gone. Maybe he’d go up to the second floor to where Nino was managing the console – it’d be easier to find her that way. He looked towards the bar.

And made eye contact with Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

His mouth gaped open ever so slightly. For the first time, he’d actually noticed her – not as a friend, but as a proper woman. The eyes, the lips, all her features, dazzling with impossible French beauty, yet still distinctly Oriental.

Alya was sitting next to her, but he barely noticed her. All his attention was focused on Marinette. She reminded him so much of Ladybug that the resemblance was uncanny – but then he forced the thought out of his head. Ladybug was no more. He was going to seek Marinette out as a lady in her own right, not as a replacement for his former flame.

He walked towards her. The distance narrowed. His hands quavered with an unnatural anxiety. Once he reached her, there’d be no going back. He would’ve renounced his crush for Ladybug. A small part of his heart nagged at him to turn around, leave the club and never return. But he didn’t stop.

Thirty metres. Twenty. He smelled victory. He would finally triumph over Ladybug. He’d be free from the curse. Ten metres.

He was close now. He’d done it. His heart swelled with pride. He’d overcome his stupid crush.

And right then, as he heard a flurry of footsteps, his joy turned to dread. “Adrieennn!” a shrill voice cut through the air. He only had time to process the noise and form the words _oh God_ in his head before Chloe Bourgeois crashed into him in an embrace.

He didn’t know whether to be grateful that she’d stopped calling him childish nicknames or to be seething with rage that she’d just barged between him and Marinette and taken away his golden opportunity. He maintained a composed face, like he always did when Chloe was around him, and looked down to face her.

“Adrien! I didn’t know you were here! You should’ve told me! Oh my god, we need a selfie together. You look _stunning_ ,” she said coyly, batting her carefully curled eyelashes.

“Um, hi Chloe,” he muttered uncomfortably.

She paid no heed to his obvious discomfort. “Wanna get a drink? I know the bartender and all, you know. He, like, makes the best drinks _ever_.”

“I’ve had enough to drink for the night.”

“Come on!” she pouted. “Lightweight. At least join me on the dancefloor, won’t you Adrien? This song is crazy. I _love_ Momentum. Don’t you?”

“Honestly, not really.” At the corner of his eye he spied Marinette trying to calm down an indignant Alya with her fists curled up in balls. God, she was scary when she was mad.

“Oh yeah. You’re a pianist and everything,” Chloe said. “So who do you like? Mozart? I love Moonlight Sonata.”

“Uhh, Beethoven wrote that.”

“Who cares, they’re all dead anyway,” she drawled, flicking her wrist. “Come on. We can hit the dancefloor or the bar. Whichever you want. And maybe we can have some _fun_ after.”

The last sentence completely strengthened his resolve to get out of Chloe’s way as fast as possible. Alya was right behind Chloe now, Marinette trying to pull her back. He needed an excuse, fast – not just to get himself out of this pinch, but also to save Chloe from a potential trip to the hospital.

_Think, Adrien. Think!_

“Sorry, but…” he stepped past Chloe and took Marinette’s hand in his own. “I’m with her.”

A multitude of reactions and emotions erupted in that single moment. He was feeling quite smug, in fact (and he could imagine Plagg would be as well). Marinette’s jaw fell slack, her face turning crimson. Alya did her utmost to keep in the guffaws of laughter. And Chloe’s incredulous expression was unlike anything he’d ever seen before.

“Y-You…” the look on her face was beyond disbelief. It was as if Adrien had forsaken her. Which somehow felt quite satisfying. “You’re with _Marinette Dupain-Cheng?_ ”

He turned to Marinette, who looked quite flustered indeed. He winked at her. _Play along_ , it said.

“Yeah. Sorry. Maybe another time, Chloe,” he shrugged. “Let’s go, Marinette.”

And off he walked with his shit-eating grin, her hand clasped in his, while Chloe looked on, aghast and Alya let out bellows of unrestrained, pure laughter. Her hand felt unbelievably warm. Something he’d desperately needed since last week – no, for years, actually.

Within seconds, they lost sight of Chloe and Alya as they disappeared behind the crowd. He faced Marinette. “Sorry. That came out of nowhere. I hope I didn’t shock you too badly.”

She giggled. “Not at all. I was just surprised. Is that one of your Casanova moves?”

“It might be.”

“I expected nothing less,” she smirked. “Why’re you here? You don’t look like one to party.”

He shrugged. “Felt like it. Wanna dance?”

“Sorry, but…” she placed a finger on her chin. “I don’t really feel like staying here any longer. It’s really noisy and cramped.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I-I mean,” she stammered, “Sure! It’s not a bad place or anything. It’s just I’m kind of tired, you know? And, uh, the party kind of sucks, really. I’m just going through the motions and it’s not fun and all and I just wish Nino would drop a Jagged Stone record…”

Her eyes widened and her voice trailed off as she stopped mid-rant. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

Adrien broke out in a grin. “No.”

“What?”

“I mean, right? There’s no fun around here. I was thinking the exact same thing,” he said.

She beamed at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. Are you a psychic?”

“I wish I was,” she chuckled. “So what do you say, Monsieur Agreste? Shall we ditch the party?”

“Why not?” Clutching her hand, he made his way towards the exit, past the bouncers, past the doors. Her hand radiated, oozed warmth. He felt… secure. And she was the happiest he’d ever seen her been. Perhaps things could work out after all. Perhaps he’d actually manage to find some solace in Marinette. It gave him hope for the future. That felt strangely foreign.

They found themselves by the Seine, the coastline dark and lifeless. “Well,” Adrien began, “we have deserted the party. What now?”

“Um… I’m not sure.”

“What do you say we go for a walk?” he smiled at her. Without waiting for a response, he slung an arm around Marinette and began walking. Assertive and dominant, much more than he was used to. Much more than any of his friends would’ve expected of him. He didn’t want to lose her. The machismo and aggressiveness was all an act to cover up his emotional vulnerability – that he knew quite well. But he’d do anything to mend his heart. And it seemed like Marinette Dupain-Cheng was the person for that.

He observed her deep scarlet blush with amusement as she tightened the scarf around her neck. She muttered something under her breath that he couldn’t quite hear. He smirked and held her tighter. In his arms, she felt like the dam to his bleeding heart. Did he actually like her or was it just infatuation, spurred on by his recent heartbreak? He prayed it was the former.

She whipped out her phone, hastily scrolling through a few messages from Alya. Adrien took a quick glance.

_Alya: YOU GO GIRL_

_Alya: HOLY SHIT_

_Alya: i want updates_

The two of them smirked in unison.

As they approached a bridge, the jingle of a bell could be distinctly heard. They looked around for the sound, and there stood Andre the ice-cream man, bell in hand, ready to serve his magical confections to couples all over Paris.

“Want some?” Adrien looked down at Marinette. Her eyes were uncertain, like she wasn’t sure whether Adrien was just acting under the influence of alcohol to encourage all the hand-holding. She wasn’t sure if she’d be his the next morning. Yet at the same time, her eyes sparkled with an impossible happiness that he’d only ever saw when she was around him. Did that mean something?

“Sure,” she said, and the two of them made their way to the ice-cream stand. Maybe they weren’t exactly lovers yet. But something nagged within them that let the both of them know that they wanted to be more than just friends.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my longest one yet!
> 
> please share and leave kudos if you liked it. thank you for reading!
> 
> I can be reached on reddit (https://www.reddit.com/user/pun_noir/) and tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nw-we)


	7. Mad Sounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> poor adrien.

The absolute best secretaries in the business had no qualms about sitting down for hours at a time to accomplish their tasks. Such was their job requirement; they lived and breathed typing and filing and setting things into order. They remained plastered to their chairs and hunched over their desks doing whatever menial tasks their bosses set them up to. This was what they applied for and they had best be able to withstand long hours of absolute monotone.

Which was why Nathalie found it quite odd indeed that after barely half an hour of sitting at her desk, her legs were itching to move again.

She set the file she was holding in her hands down on the table and picked up her mug of water, taking a much-needed sip. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

The boy deserved better than that, she was quite sure of that. Even when Mrs. Agreste was around, his father had not been particularly good to him – now it had been made worse by her disappearance. Since his wife was gone, she was the one who understood him best; it was much simpler than outsiders thought, really. Behind all the inscrutable movements and decisions and seemingly cold façade, all that remained under was a man who cared deeply for his family. A man that, despite family being his all, did not know how to express it, and as such resorted to burying himself in work to spare himself from the pleasantries.

A man that would go as far as to commit acts of terror in a bid to retrieve his wife.

She wasn’t quite sure of what to think of the whole situation. When Gabriel had revealed to her his alter ego, her reaction was much less dramatic than any other person would. Yet when the realisation of the implication kicked in, she had broken into a panic quite uncharacteristic of her.

She was working for Hawkmoth. A _terrorist_.

Nathalie Sancoeur had managed to be an accomplice in a terror plot at thirty years of age.

That day she’d went home as quickly as she possibly could with her heart pounding harder than it ever did before. Which was quite understandable, she supposed. After a well-timed cup of chamomile she sat down on her sofa and began to think as rationally as she possibly could. As rational as she did when she was at work. As rational as Gabriel Agreste.

Her employer was fashion designer by day and villain by night. Did his actions directly affect her? No, for he never once harmed her (though she had come close to danger on more than one occasion thanks to his antics, she conveniently left out that part in her train of thought).

Was she ought to report his actions to the authorities? No, for she had no solid proof and could not possibly convict him for her only guarantee was his word. Either way, whether he was found guilty or not, she would lose her job. That could not happen.

Should she try to change him and make him see the error of his ways? She spent the most time pondering over this one. In the end she decided against it for it was futile to get one as stubborn as Gabriel Agreste to change his mind. He was doing it for his wife after all. His wife, whom he so dearly loved even if he did not have the practical social intelligence to express it. There would be no making him repent.

In the end she decided to turn a blind eye to his actions and tried not to feel a pang of guilt when Nadja Chamack was on the news every other week reporting about the latest akuma attack.

Part of her worried about how sly her employer was. He’d convinced her that he was doing this purely for the good of his wife, and for Adrien. What if he was lying? What if his motives were much more sinister – he was more than capable of deceit, after all – what if she’d just been stupidly naïve all along? But she failed to see how he could have any other motive besides the one he claimed to have.

What she was infinitely more concerned about was Adrien. At home the boy _exuded_ sadness. The embodiment of grief walked around in the Agreste estate every day and her employer had somehow not noticed.

He wasn’t an idiot – no, far from it. He was an impressively clever and perceptive man, something she’d realised the moment she stepped into the interview room many years ago. He’d just been too caught up in his own grief that he’d failed to see his son’s. He’d been avoiding the issue for far too long to the point where he forgot there even was an issue with his son. And he was so bent on his quest to bring his wife back that he’d completely neglected his own flesh and blood.

Perhaps he was an idiot after all.

She hadn’t said anything thus far. She believed her employer would eventually snap out of it after an entire year of having his akuma thwarted by the city’s superheroes. But it seemed to drive him, spur him even further, and his son was doing none the better.

Really – what had she gotten herself into? She’d become the aide to Paris’ most wanted criminal, filled in the shoes of a missing (likely dead) woman for a filthy rich family and become, essentially, a babysitter to an anguish-stricken teen. Money was the only thing pushing her on.

She leaned back in her office chair. It was no good. She needed a break. A break from magical villains and broken families. Reaching out for her phone, she plugged in a pair of headphones – a pair of good quality headphones she’d been able to buy thanks to her salary, she reminded herself. There would be no deserting the Agrestes just yet. Being single and living alone didn’t give you many financial options.

She scrolled through her downloaded playlists. It seemed as though her taste in music reflected her personality; flat and bland. Nothing but a sea of Billboard 100 hits. Nothing that could’ve helped her really relax. She sighed, settling for some sappy pop song for background music as she returned back to her work.

But her fingers would not move with the same dexterity as before. She slunk down in her chair. One of these days, when she’d served her employer long enough, she was going to have to ask for a much-needed sabbatical.

The door slammed open. Nathalie shot upright, nearly falling out of her chair. She straightened herself and her fingers instinctively roamed to her keyboard’s home row, pretending to be busy. She turned towards the door.

Gabriel Agreste stood in the doorway, hunched over and panting. Every facial feature of his face was contorted and frowning. Not a good sign – he was either angry or worried; the latter oftentimes wasn’t the case.

Nathalie quickly rose to her feet. “Sir? What-”

“My son is missing,” he breathlessly muttered.

She gasped. “Adrien?” There were two things he cared about in life; his company and his family. And she had not exactly attended an interview to be a runner for his son. Still there was nothing worse than dealing with the fallout of Gabriel Agreste’s rage when Adrien was concerned.

“He’s gone,” her boss snapped. “Find him. Now!”

“Yes sir,” she hastily said, sprinting out of the room, running down the stairs alongside his bodyguard. Not again – she was sick of having to deal with the boy, sick of having to fulfil the needs that her employer should’ve long provided for his son.

When had this started to happen? When had everything gone wrong, for what was supposed to be a straightforward, satisfying job?

She cursed underneath her breath and made her way towards the car.

* * *

 

Even fifty metres above the crowd, the din was deafening. Adrien – now Chat Noir – watched the mob below with slit eyes, dangling his legs over the roof. The crowd hustled and jostled and stamped their feet, waiting impatiently for the arrival of Jagged Stone.

The rockstar’s _Rock Giant_ tour had been a massive success, becoming the tenth highest grossing music tour in history, and Bob Roth had pushed him to go for another one. Paris was one of his favourite touring venues and he’d played tens of times in the city alone. Yet he never stopped coming back for more.

Chat leaned back, propping himself up on his arms. Naturally, when he’d gotten wind of the news that Jagged Stone was back in town, he’d made plans to go almost instantly. And in typical Gabriel fashion his father was vehemently opposed to his idea. Citing a deterioration in grades and “sub-par piano playing”, he was henceforth barred from leaving the manor till his results showed an improvement.

For the lack of a better word, Adrien had enough of his father’s bullshit.

He knew fathers were supposed to be the stoic, strict one – or at least that was the impression he got from his friends and literature. But why was it that his father became increasingly paranoid and controlling since a year ago? Why couldn’t he mind his own damn business and bury himself in selling shirts and colognes if he didn’t care?

Oh, we’re so sorry about your mother, they all said. Be close to your father, for he cares for you very much.

Did he, now? _Lies,_ Chat thought through clenched teeth. His nails raked against the steel.

The thought of thousands – maybe tens of thousands – of people around the world idolizing his father seemed quite strange to him indeed. People saw him for his designs. They saw him for his coats, his suits, his perfumes, his cashmere scarves, his leather shoes. Not once did they see him as a person, and if they did Adrien guessed they would be sorely disappointed.

He knew of boys and girls at his school that would have absolutely killed to be him. Oh, money and material wealth. How fun. With a lack of a social life and family, money was the least of his concerns. Had they known how his life truly was, he doubted a single person in the world would want to be in his place.

He needed an escape. Something to snatch him out of his mundane, depressing life. Something less potent than drugs, hopefully.

For a while it had been the ring. The Miraculous let him be free. It let him move how he saw fit, go where he saw fit, act how he saw fit. But even the refreshing, thrilling surges of power felt dull after a year. The catsuit had become his second skin, and it felt more normal than it ever had before. There were only so many villains he could take on before he was burned out. He suspected Ladybug felt the same – then again, she’d never taken her duties light-heartedly, and he doubted she would ever treat it as her escape.

Ladybug – that had been his second escape. After the novelty of being a hero wore off, he needed something else. He needed something within grasp, attainable, close to his heart. And she was that something. The way his heart fluttered when he was patrolling alongside her, how he’d put on a stupid lovesick smile when they watched the city crawl below from the peak of the Eiffel Tower. But it was quickly apparent she was anything but attainable.

It was very much like the employee trying to date the boss, he mused. One head over heels, with no regard for professionalism or privacy, just needing a quick fix. The other stoic, unwavering, sticking to workplace dogma and not budging an inch. And if the employee got through there was the chance of their job falling through.

He was like that in that regard. Blind love for Ladybug. For someone he didn’t know. If things didn’t work out he’d probably toss the ring into the Seine and never look back.

So here he was fifty meters off the ground, perched on a stadium roof, waiting for Jagged Stone to make his appearance. He was a superhero after all. Ticket evasion didn’t apply to him.

Honestly he wasn’t quite sure himself why he was there. Maybe he just needed a tall place to relax and look at the view. Maybe he just liked Jagged Stone. Maybe he just needed to be alone. Either way, he’d snuck out of his house and there would be no going back till the show was over.

He thought of his house servants, his bodyguard, Nathalie. His heart pained for them, felt pangs of guilt for them. They shouldn’t have had to fill in the shoes of his parents. Nathalie should not have had to become his caretaker. That was his father’s job. But his father never fulfilled any of his duties outside of work.

Really, though; he felt bad for her. She signed up as a secretary to file paperwork and sit by her desktop all day. She didn’t have the time nor will to be a mother figure to him. He wanted to help her relieve her duties, but she couldn’t defy his father of all people. And somewhere in him, he desperately needed a female figure in his life.

He thought of Hawkmoth too, how he wringed every bit of spare time he had to battle his stupid akuma. Not once was he successful, but like a stubborn pest he never gave up. He thought of how his life was bogged down by emotional and physical baggage, how utterly exhausted he was.

He sighed. “Plagg?”

 _What is it, kid?_ came the silent reply in his head.

“Were all your Chosen’s lives this shitty?”

_Maybe._

“Care to elaborate?”

_Robin Hood got killed in a fight. Oda Nobunaga killed himself. I think they all were pretty miserable._

“Good to know,” Adrien muttered.

_You have it the best, you know?_

“What do you mean?” he frowned. He had it the best, with his father’s treatment, his mother gone, with his life subjugated to factors out of his control? Were the previous Chat Noirs’ lives so terrible that his was great by their standards?

_You live in a civilized time and at least have a social life. You didn’t spend your entire existence alone and sad and dying in some corner of the world with no one to remember you._

He did not respond.

He supposed he was lucky enough to be wealthy, at the very least. But why should that stop him from venting his problems? Why should it prevent him from directing his anger towards his father? It was all his father’s fault. His fault for treating his son like he did. His fault for being the person that he was. And though he did not explicitly say it – not even explicitly, consciously think it – within the deep psyche of his brain, a part of him blamed his mother. Blamed his mother for leaving him behind, blamed his mother for turning his father into what he was, blamed her for turning him into an empty, hollow shell of what he once was.

Of course, he never once showed it to others – not to his father, not to Nathalie, not to Marinette, nor Nino. He wasn’t even aware he felt that way. But his subconscious did. And every once in a while he’d feel the wicked sickles of despair cut away at his heartstrings. He was no saint, not an overly obedient child that his father thought he’d raised him to be. Even he had his downs.

Now, staring at the dark stage, staring at the hushed audience anticipating the arrival of their hero, he felt _nothing_. It was strange. His mother had disappeared, his father had treated him terribly and he didn’t know how to vent it. Vaguely, he knew the proper way to react was to find a suitable way to get it out, talk to someone or just destroy something unimportant; or perhaps go for a more personal method an use the age-old method of shedding tears. But his heart felt empty, void, like nothing was in there, like he was capable of feeling nothing.

His eyes had glazed over. He sat perfectly still.

_Adrien._

“Plagg?”

_Can you stop feeling so down?_

His brow furrowed. “What the hell do you mean?”

 _I mean – gah! I don’t know how to put it,_ rang the voice in his head apologetically. _What I mean is, you gotta stop brooding over it so much, Adrien. I’m not saying you have to forget what happened to your mother. But you’re always so…_

Adrien raised an eyebrow.

 _…you’re so_ sad _. It stings to see. Really does._

His eyes widened slightly. He never expected Plagg to say such a thing – he wasn’t one to speak explicitly. Yet here he was, with his kwami trying to comfort him. His heart felt fuzzy and warm; someone cared. Not a hunch of his own, but a fact. Someone cared. Someone cared. The tear glands in the corner of his eye began to well up. The cynic in him thought of how the first person in his life to have given a damn about him since his mother was gone was some creature – not even human, more abstract than physical. But he was a living being all the same, and it soothed his heart.

_Your mom disappeared and your father’s a dick. But if that’s all you ever think about – I don’t know. Don’t let it consume you, Adrien. Just… relax. For a while. Come on. You’re still better off than all my other Chosen. But that doesn’t mean you’re happy. Chill for a while, please. You can eat the Camembert if you want._

Adrien smiled, all while tears trickled down the side of his face. It was a grateful smile – not a particularly happy one, for he was far from happy, but simply glad that someone was concerned about him. Even if that someone was a three-inch tall magic floating black cat.

_And if you think my advice is stupid just remember I’m like five thousand years old. I’ve seen more shit than you have._

Adrien cracked. He burst out in guffaws of laughter and sniffled and cried at the same time. He’d never had someone elicit such a strange combination of reactions from him before. This mixture of laughter and crying was only reserved to Hollywood productions, he thought. Still, he continued all the same. Every bellow of laughter, every tear from his eye, wrenched his heart in unimaginable ways, bringing out all the joy and pain that went with it. It was the absolute catharsis he’d needed.

He took a deep breath and caught himself. His eyes were red as fire from weeping and he looked like an absolute wreck. But he smiled all the same.

“Thanks Plagg,” he breathed. “I mean it. I really do.”

His kwami did not respond.

He looked back towards the stage. It erupted in a flash of light and purple as Jagged Stone burst onto the stage, chugging the guitar in his hand, the drums behind him blasting out beat after beat. The audience roared with delight and jumped up and down manically and cheered hysterically.

Perhaps Plagg was right. He needed to relax. Trying so hard to figure out what went wrong, brooding over the matter every day – it wasn’t going to do him any good. His heart still ached and his brain was screaming and clamouring for him to destroy something, rip it to shreds, but he wouldn’t listen. He just needed to calm down for now.

He needed some music. And what better way to enjoy it live?

He closed his eyes and lied down, taking in all the mad sounds in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please share and leave kudos if you liked it. thank you for reading!
> 
> I can be reached on reddit (https://www.reddit.com/user/pun_noir/) and tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nw-we)


	8. Fireside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> poor kids.

Love was an all-powerful being. It propelled the most dejected, unenthusiastic persons on a wild chase. It sent the most stoic and steadfast of humans into a manic frenzy. It tore apart the lives of billions and simultaneously propelled its goodness to the lives of countless others.

Love could have been a benevolent force, hailed and worshipped by beings all over the globe, if only it were a constant thing. If only it didn’t fizz out like an overloaded fuse every few years or so. If only humans could love for the entirety of their existence.

Perhaps a more happy-go-lucky or a darker being – Plagg probably fit both of those categories – would claim that love would not have been fun otherwise. But it was not fun. Not fun at all, when she had to try to muster up the strength to talk to Adrien. Not fun in the least when her heart felt so conflicted and her inner demons waged war and roared in her mind, for the chase for Adrien seemed like a pointless one. Not fun in the slightest when she found herself randomly devastated on days when something happened with her crush.

She wished so dearly to be a little more like a certain redhead and her partner. How they’d just managed to hit it off and stay together through thick and thin. But it seemed nearly like a pipe dream for her at this point, and the journey felt more and more futile with time.

That explained why she felt so odd sitting at her desk, frantically trying to put together a pair of mittens. That explained the slight tinge of reluctance when she stopped by the fabrics shop to get a spool of high-quality wool, forking out a good sum of money – much more than she’d usually be willing to part with for her artistic pursuits.

Reluctance was a strange, foreign feeling to her when it came to her crush. Three years had gone by and her mind had never once released its grip on its accelerator. It was always Adrien this, Adrien that, everything was for him. But as of late it seemed to have relented a little and take the back seat for a while.

She felt a wave of horror the first time she’d felt that invisible force pushing her back when she’d tried to make something for Adrien for Valentine’s; her gut simultaneously tugging at her, telling her that it was fruitless. Her legs refusing to push forward. She tightened her fists and went to work, but it was horrifying all the same.

And the strangest thing was that she was not particularly shocked by it; this horrified even her more. She was terrified by it, yes. But it was almost as if she was expecting it to happen sooner or later. It was as if her worst fear had come true.

Her second worst fear was the fact that she _knew_ she was expecting it.

All these fears made her heart pound, made her bones tremble. And there seemed to be nothing that she could do to stop it.

Her sewing machine revved and buzzed a few more times before she carefully retrieved her pair of mittens. Her signature was freshly stitched on the inside in cursive in golden thread. The mittens were knitted together perfectly, made to warm the hands as best as possible. It was a work of art. It was a piece that she should’ve been proud of. Yet she dreaded handing it over to their recipient.

Tomorrow was going to be a fateful day. Not that there was anything out of the ordinary. It was just another Valentine’s. Though for reasons unknown, it seemed to weigh down on her far more than any other day she’d had in her life.

She set the mittens in a box, tied it up in a bow with a beautiful red ribbon, then shut the lights off and went to sleep.

* * *

 

 It should not have been so difficult to stand upright by the school gate. She had gotten over her stutter when talking to her crush years ago. Perhaps it was because her trembling was not due to her fear of speaking to him, but rather how he might respond.

That was the most terrifying thing, wasn’t it? How he might respond when her fuse was close to its limit. Had her love gone for good, or was it going to come back around? Decisions, decisions.

How was it so incredibly hard to make up her mind? She wasn’t sure if humans were supposed to be the apex rulers of the animal kingdom after all, if such a decision took so long to make.

Adrien had lived in her heart for so long, it was like he was a permanent part of her. In her thoughts, in her chest, in her every waking moment. But he was fading away. Somehow, slowly but surely. She had not explicitly come to terms with it; her unconscious, though, seemed to have already accepted it. Which was why her legs could not keep straight at all.

Alya spoke words of encouragement in her ear, but none of them made it in. She could not have possibly understood – at least not that Marinette had seen anything yet to believe she could.

The dreaded footstep was heard. Adrien emerged from the school doors with a certain friend of his by his side; Marinette paid no heed to Alya’s significant other as she jolted upright. Her eyes made contact with Adrien’s. He gave a knowing look – knowing full well she’d have something in store for him for Valentine’s. But his eyes did not seem to decipher the fact that she was _scared_.

She was terrified, in fact. Terrified that for the fourth time in a row, he’d receive his gift with nothing more than a smile and nod. Terrified that her efforts were for naught. And above all, terrified that if he’d respond the way she thought he would, it would be over.

She walked towards him. There was a smile on her face, but it was all for show, simply a façade to put him at ease. If she could, she would have bit her lip till it bled.

They greeted each other. If one was to listen intently, they could hear the shakiness in her voice. She thrusted the box towards Adrien, her fingers barely managing to keep its grip on the parcel. Underneath the box, out of his sight, a few of her fingers held on to a paper note. A note that professed her love for Adrien. A note she’d been waiting years to finally condense her thoughts into.

“Here. For you,” she grinned as widely as her face allowed her to. Yet her heart continued to beat harder than ever before.

Humans had the ability to read faces, a timeless skill honed over tens of thousands of years of evolution. They saw every quirk, every facial tic, every small change in one another’s face. It was said that there were ten thousand possible human expressions, and every human had the innate ability to read them, provided they functioned normally.

Marinette was doing just that. She hoped it was not too painfully obvious, but her gaze was intently fixed on Adrien’s face, roaming around for even the slightest change in expression.

“Thanks, Marinette,” he beamed, and held the box in his hand. Her fingers still held the note. “You’ve been an amazing friend to me.”

The world seemed to crack around its edges at that moment, crashing down on her optimistic outlook.

_Friend._

It would have been utterly hilarious if not for the fact that her heart felt completely numb, completely empty. Friend? So this was how it came down to. Her gut was right. She’d never once drawn Adrien towards her. Everything she had done was futile.

She mustered up the sweetest smile she possibly could, and swiped the note away.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing towards her hand.

“Nothing,” she lied.

And she promptly crushed it in her hands and walked away without saying so much as a single goodbye. Alya ran after her, but she did not turn to face her. Only tears fell from her face as she marched back towards her home.

Adrien had officially moved out of the hotel suite that was her heart, and it was kind of strange now that he was gone.

But she could live with this. Or at least she believed she could.

* * *

 

Being the superheroine of a city with a population of 2.2 million meant that you had to be professional and separate your personal life and emotions from your work.

That was exactly what Ladybug did that day.

When an akuma attack took place (no doubt a byproduct of Valentine’s Day), she wordlessly transformed and headed out to defeat the villain. It was no surprise, and she was certainly no stranger to Hawkmoth’s activities.

It was over within ten minutes. She appeared at the scene alongside Chat Noir and swiftly, methodically subdued the villain, released the akuma, and restored everything back to normal. It was quite cathartic, she mused. What better way to get over heartache than to exert physical force on a supervillain? Get the adrenaline pumping through your veins, clear your mind and forget Adrien ever happened.

It worked – but temporarily at best.

She stood at the top of the Eiffel Tower, gazing down at the crawling traffic below. It was dusk and the sun was due to set any moment. The intense orange light cast a certain fuzzy glow that lit up the city and gave it its warmth. Chat Noir was perched on a steel beam next to her.

There was an unusual silence that day. The two often spoke – whether it was in the heat of battle, small talk, teasing, joking, or confiding in each other – but there was none of that today. The akuma attack was put down with no more than any necessary communication.

She swallowed. She was not used to a lack of words between them.

“How was your Valentine’s?”

Chat Noir looked up at her. The emerald slits of his seemed to eye her cautiously. Finally, after a moment’s deliberation, he shrugged. “I dunno. Got a couple of gifts.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad. At least better than mine,” she replied idly, fidgeting with one of her pigtails.

He did not respond.

She glanced back at him. There was a strange feeling she couldn’t shake off. Her conscious mind couldn’t put it into words or define it. Yet her psyche knew something was wrong – she felt scared once more. She felt nervous, felt anxious.

She couldn’t understand. Why? What was going on? Why did she feel this way? She didn’t have an answer. But deep within her, she knew.

“Do you have any experience with love?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

“What do you do when your crush doesn’t reciprocate your feelings?”

An eyebrow of Chat’s twitched.

She was scared to lose him. That was it. And that “him” referred not to Adrien, but Chat. She lost the one male figure she’d been gunning for half her life. She didn’t want to lose her partner. Her partner, whom she was friends with. Her partner, who had been her pillar of support for years. Her partner whom she couldn’t imagine being without.

“I should be asking you that,” he muttered.

She stiffened. Her heart raced. Why did he have to say that? She was far from ready to answer that question, not after Adrien.

He looked her in the eye intently. There was a slight curve to his lips, a tinge of melancholy.

“Is it still a no? After all these years?” he said, but it sounded more like pleading. Pleading for her to just give him one chance.

A lump formed in her throat. She needed an answer. She couldn’t lose him, but she couldn’t lie, either. She looked downwards, at her feet, at the steel beneath her soles, the city below, but nothing came to her head.

And in the end, that was exactly what she said. Nothing.

It didn’t take long for Chat to get her intent. He readied his staff. “So be it, My Lady,” he muttered, and leapt off into the skyline.

She outstretched a hand. “Wait!” she shouted, but it was too late. He was gone.

She chuckled bitterly and sank to her feet. It seemed that she wasn’t the only one whose fuse was about to blow.

She stared back down at the city. It was the exact same – the same monuments, the same streets, the same horizon, everything identical as it was before. Yet with the absence of two certain blonde-haired individuals, it could not have been more different.

Sometimes in love, nobody won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write a little shorter this time. please share and leave kudos if you liked it. thank you for reading!
> 
> I can be reached on reddit (https://www.reddit.com/user/pun_noir/) and tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nw-we)


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